


The Road that Passes my Home

by Bumocusal



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - The Time Traveler's Wife, Angel/Demon Relationship, Assault, Canon-Typical Violence, Castiel and Dean Winchester Have a Profound Bond, Chuck is God, Cigarettes, Coda, Coming of Age, Demon Dean, Demon Dean Winchester, Demon Dean being kinda sweet, Episode AU: s12e23 All Along the Watchtower, Episode Fix-it, F/M, Het sex for like two paragraphs, Homophobic John Winchester, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Killing, Lack of Communication, M/M, Minor Lisa Braeden/Dean Winchester, Monster of the Week, Multi, Murder, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Pining, Pining Dean, Post-Episode: s12e23 All Along the Watchtower, Post-Season/Series 12, Pre-Canon, Profound Bond, Slow Romance, Supernatural Elements, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, Underage Kissing, season 12/13 coda
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2018-08-07
Packaged: 2019-01-27 09:21:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 50,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12578588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bumocusal/pseuds/Bumocusal
Summary: When Dean prayed for Cas to come back, Chuck listened.He just got the date wrong— multiple times.ON HIATUS





	1. Take me back to the Start

**Author's Note:**

> Wow! I'm really excited to share this with you guys. It's the longest fanfiction I've ever written, at this point. But once an idea gets in your head, you have to run with it.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If any of you are sensitive to sexual assault or homophobia, please read the end of chapter notes to get a necessary spoiler.

**May 2017**

_Dean is 38_

 

Having Mary back was like a blessing— a dream, even, after the nightmare he went through to get her. She was alive and beautiful, sitting next to him and typing on her computer. They were looking for Castiel, as he’s always looking for Castiel, and it honestly felt like home. Like this was how it was meant to be. The death of the British men of letters was a warm thought to grace his search.

 

He thinks of the two bodies they had to drag out, Lady Bevell with her throat slit and Ketch shot between the eyes. Brain and blood covering the floor like icing and sprinkles on a cake. Although it might be sick, Dean had gotten a strange satisfaction watching his mom kill Ketch. Like every sordid thing they did together means nothing to her, the sex couldn’t hold up, apparently, over her family lives. It was the confirmation he desperately needed.

 

It had almost felt like a win, until Sammy broke the Lucifer bombshell. Fucking Crowley.

 

Now they were scavenging the news, internet, and any other media that might help them find Cas. If Lucifer found Kelly before them, it would be catastrophic. Like usual Cas ran off on his own, Kelly and Lucifer’s hellspawn in tote, acting like staying with Dean was the sure way to the apocalypse. The bunker is the most secure place on earth, if Cas thinks whatever place he’s camping out at now is better, he’s in for a rude awakening.

 

Ever since Cas had gotten stabbed by his big bro’s poisoned spear, it had been awkward between them. The love confession hadn’t helped either, it was so vague and happened at a moment of weakness. Cas had said it at a large, might’ve been referring to the whole group. But the way he was looking at Dean when he said it— Dean would be a dick if he were to corner Cas about it. Besides, he hadn’t had that much time to act if he did. With Castiel fucking off to heaven for almost a month without a word.

 

Cas had been highly strung for a while now, thinking his soul purpose was as a tool Dean used and not a friend. He feels guilty about it, the sentiment might be an understandable misconception. Back when he was mad at Castiel for not being him. It felt like his insides were tearing at the seams. Like the person he was in love with, shared a special bond with, felt nothing back for him. It was the worst type of pinning.

 

“Wait a second, I got something.” Sam interrupts his thoughts. “Okay. Two hours ago there was a massive power outage in the pacific northwest.”

 

“Sounds like the right kind of weird.” Mary murmurs curiously.

 

“They tracked the outage to an address in North Cove, Washington, to a house currently being rented by one James Novak.” Sam stops and looks directly at Dean, eyebrows raised.

 

Dean feels the hope rising in his chest. That’s Cas. “Let’s roll.”

 

“It’s about time.” Crowley grumbles as they stand up.

 

Before Dean can say anything or even protest, Castiel materializes next to them. It scares Dean shitless because Castiel’s wings are supposed to be flayed, he can’t fly. Face passive like he’s concentrating. Castiel looks at Dean, the look that has his stomach flipping, putting him on edge. Please, not now.

 

Their last visit had been over four months ago, January if he remembers correctly, not the longest time they’d been apart but he still hadn’t prepared for this.

 

“Cas.” Sam doesn’t even notice. “Did you get Dean’s call?”

 

“I always do,” Cas says cryptically, looking at him.

 

That is like a punch in the throat. Coughing from awkwardness and to misdirect from his blushing, Dean steps back.  He gives Cas a one over, tries to figure it out in his head and promptly fails like usual. He goes for casual indulgence first.  “Are you staying for long?”

 

“I don’t know,” Castel says, squinting at them all. “But I suspect we should hurry up and find me.”

 

“Cas?” Dean’s eyes widen, astonished. The shock doesn’t wear off. “Is it happening?”

 

“Unfortunately,” Cas grimaces, he points to the bunker's exit. “We need to go now.”

 

“What’s going on?” Mary asks, prompting resounding silence from both Dean and Cas. He’d dreamt about this moment for his entire life, but it was completely different facing it. He’d never thought of a solid way to explain their situation, it always felt like a faraway fantasy. Just beyond his grasp.

 

He shrugs helplessly to her, stealing a look to Cas. “It’s a long story.”

 

Mary crosses her arms stubbornly. “I’m not moving until I get an explanation.”

 

Sam gets this wild look in his eye like he’s finally piecing together what just happened, “Is this future Castiel helping us get to present Cas?”  


The kid got it in one, Dean avoids Sam’s stare, “Good detective skills, Sammy.”

 

“Why is he sharing the secret?” The kid asks semi-jokingly to relieve the tension.

 

“This is when it happens, Sammy.” Dean says without hesitation. “I’m positive.”  


“How do you know?” Sam asks, leaning forward like a puppy begging for a treat.  


As soon as Dean’s about to reply, Cas interrupts. “Not important. We need to get to Kelly Kline and her child before Lucifer.”

 

Crowley stands up slowly. “Maybe I can be of assistance. I am the only one who can teleport us.”

 

“Anything to get us to the child faster.” Cas nods to Crowley without spite. It’s weird to experience. “Now, since Mary Winchester is apparently the only reluctant party, here's your explanation; I’ve been cursed to time travel through your son's life. This is when I get sent back. We need to go now or else the universe will implode on itself.”

 

“Okay.” She says easily. Nodding her head. “I knew you looked familiar.”

 

“You know Cas from the past?” Sam asks Mary, intrigued.

 

She nods, “He helped name your brother.”

 

Dean smiles softly, going over to punch Cas on the arm. “I thought you were joking about that.”

 

“I never joke.” Cas deadpans. Then, “But I do look sexy pretending to be a pastor to impressionable young pregnant women.”

 

Mary tries to look unimpressed but ends up bashful.

 

Sam cracks a grin. “Definitely future Castiel. You have a sense of humor.”

 

 

 

 **September 2008**  
_Dean is 29_

 

When he wakes up, it is dark. Not as dark as hell, but still consuming. He coughs hard, breath shallow as he reaches for his lighter. Panting, he looks around and tears begin to form in his eyes. He’s in a pine box, like an honest to god casket. If Dean knows anything about himself, it’s that he’s pertinacious about people being brought back to life. Now is not one of those times.

 

Because he is not in hell and that’s the best goddamn thing in the world.

  
“Help!” He tries to yell, but it is barely a whisper, “Sam? Cas? Anybody? Help!”  


Nothing. 

Silence stretches out and it doesn’t matter because he’s alive, somehow.

  
Pounding on the lid sends a puff of dirt into his face. He is really six feet under, how the fuck did he manage that? Using all his strength, he manages to break the top, causing an avalanche of earth to land on him.

  
Digging out of his own coffin is an experience; it’s like a nightmare. The entire time he pictures himself as a swimmer, breast stroking through the hard clay and dirt. He breaks the surface, swallowing all the oxygen his throat can handle. Its bliss, the freshest air he has had in years. That is how long he was in hell, years. His muscles scream in protest as he drags himself from the ground.

 

Grunting, he tries his voice again. “Help me!”

  
The words break mid-sentence and make his throat ache. His whole body feels like it was thrown into a shredder, how had he escaped? It made no sense, unless he was a demon. He, obviously, didn’t feel like a demon. But then again, he didn’t really have a lot to base that off of, just that he didn’t have an undeniable compulsion to go on a murdering spree.

 

Eventually, Dean gets his body functions back and stands up, looking around at his surroundings.

 

He shudders at the sight; the only thing standing is a wooden cross. Everything else is like a nuclear blast site.  


The heat starts to bother him, making him strip the flannel and tie it securely around his waist. Why Sammy chose to bury him as if he lived in Antarctica escaped him. The thought lingers in his mind, why was he buried and not burned? He turned north and began the terrible trek. Heat sizzled up from the pavement, bypassing the soles of his boots and it’s almost impossible to walk.  


Dean walks until he finds a deserted-looking gas station. Somehow, the sight of it makes his head spin. He stumbles in, dizzy from the heat and unpleasant thirst, and grabs a water. He locates the mirror and scampers over to it, taking the time to fully examine himself.

 

No black eyes or hell hound scars. He’s verging on relieved until he sees it.

 

There’s a fucking hand print seared onto his skin.

  
He catches the sight of a pile of newspapers in the reflection, sitting like a present behind his head. He turns around and snatches one. He reads the date. Of course, it’s a Thursday. And he had only been gone four months? That wasn’t right; it’d at least been a couple decades.

  
Instantly, the panic in his stomach tripled. He needs to find Sam.

 

Drinking two bottles of water seemed to settle his burning mouth. His eyes glance over at Busty-Asian-Beauties, but he doesn't pick it up. He grabbed a couple of Twinkies instead, and tore open the cash register, stealing all the money. Naturally, he doesn't feel guilty. He just crawled out of his grave. This gas station can handle losing the twenty-three dollars and seventy-five cents he's pocketing.  


The static on the TV makes him jump.  


And it all clicks together, like the jigsaw puzzle of his life magically solving. This is when he first meets Castiel. It has to be, that’s what he’s said. The static is the first sign, then glass breaking, then a mirror, then the barn. It’s just that there’s not a barn in sight. 

 

Holy shit, this is it. Everything feels hot, his ears are bursting and everything is like lava. He gapes openly.

 

He eventually crumbles in defeat; the sound is too piercing and intense. He cannot handle it, and just as fast as it comes everything goes. The gas station is silent again. And he is alone again, without Castiel. The thought makes him crestfallen. Nevertheless, he doesn’t get angry.

 

Dean does not get angry because he’s patient. He has been waiting for almost thirty years, a couple days won’t hurt. He crawls out of the broken glass, cutting gashes into the palms of his hands. Awkwardly, Dean stumbles onto his feet. Almost falling over again, he’s lightheaded, his vision is like a tunnel, and his legs feel like jello. He eventually makes it out of the shop, wincing as his skin comes in contact with the pelting sun.

 

He uses one of the stolen quarters, slipping it into the payphones slot.

 

“Yeah?”

  
“Bobby?” Dean asks because he’s not sure how to open. Maybe, hey! I’m back from the dead, can you come pick me up or something?

  
“Yeah.”

  
“Thank God, Bobby,” Dean whispers, clutching to the phone. "Something wrong. I need your help."

  
“Who is this?”

  
“It’s Dean. I really need help, Bobby.”

  
“This ain’t funny. Call again and I’ll kill you,” Bobby says.

  
_Dial tone._

 

He stares at the receiver for a couple seconds, mostly in shock.

 

Instead of calling again, he hotwires a car and heads to Bobby’s. He get’s caught up in his own head. The thoughts of hell are still swirling around in his mind. He shivers unintentionally, Alistair’s grin imprinted in his memory like a wild dog snarling, teeth gleaming similarly to knifes. It’s hard to suppress, especially when every time he blinks the image is seared onto his eyelids.

 

He’s still covered in dirt, the same earth he was buried in, when he arrives at Bobby’s. He glances at himself in the car’s rearview mirror, cringing at the scary reflection. He looks like the walking dead, deep circles under his eyes and skin a pale color. But there are no blemishes, besides the handprint.

 

Bobby’s eyes widen when he sees him —

 

("Bobby it's me!" Dean shouts, backing away.  
  
"My ass," Bobby growls, driving towards his heart.)

 

— He unsurprisingly tries to stab Dean a couple times, but Dean eventually calms him down. The September air is crisp in South Dakota, and the blade is cold on his skin, but he finally proves to Bobby that he’s actually Dean. The experience is somewhat cathartic, demolishing the single doubt in his mind about being black-eyed.

 

 

 

  

 **October 2005**  
_Dean is 26_

It had been over a month since John had contacted him, a full month of torture. He was worried, laying in the backseat of the Impala. He wished with all his heart there was someone who could help, his thoughts wandered until he settled on it, talking out loud to himself, “I'm going to go get Sammy."  
  
“Are you sure that’s a good idea, Dean?”

 

“Cas,” Dean breathed out, eyes wide. He sits up. “You’re here?”

 

The angel leaned in for a hug, “Of course, I’m here. Where else would I be?”

 

“Not with me,” Dean whispers into Castiel’s neck, trying to convey all his feelings into the hug. “You’ve been gone for a while. The longest time, actually. Almost ten months.”

 

Castiel smiled, sadly, “I can’t control when I come.”

 

“I know,” Dean says, muffled frustration.

 

“I suspect your Dad is missing?” Castiel asks all knowing and completely beautiful, “That’s why you’re going to disturb your brother’s life.”

 

Tearing out of the angel’s hold, Dean tries not to get angry, “I need help trying to find him.”

 

“Why don’t you ask another hunter?” The question is heavy, makes a bead of sweat travel down his face. He stays quiet, listening to the steady sound of cars passing and rain hitting the top. “Doesn’t Sam deserve peace?”

 

“Why should Sam deserve anything?” He says bitterly, thinking back to the night with scorn and resentment. John had been so mad, not talking to Dean for days. Sam had abandoned them, which was obvious. “The jerk left us, not the other way around.”

 

“For a better life.” Castiel reminds, gently, “You could do the same. Leave anytime you want.”

 

“You’re always singing the same song, Cas.” Shaking his head, “It’s not that easy. I can’t just leave like Sam; I don’t have the opportunities he has. And I can’t even think about leaving Dad. About giving up on the thing that killed Mom. It’s like a pressure in my chest, a calling or some shit. This is my life.”

 

“Of course it is, my love.” Always so understanding, Cas pulls Dean close again, bringing them back together for a chaste kiss. “Want to know where I just was?”

 

“When,” Dean corrects automatically, face flushed from the press of their lips, “Tell me.”

 

“Seventeen-year-old Dean’s bedroom,” Cas mumbles, making Dean blush even harder. He knows exactly what Castiel is referring to, their first kiss. Or, at least, Dean’s first kiss with Castiel. It had been the first time he’d pursued his crush on Cas. They’d shared select kisses since then, but nothing as zealous.

 

Dean had been all bravo, high on teenage adrenalin; he was getting tired of listening to Castiel’s lectures about morality and righteousness. So, with all his courage, Dean dropped a slobbery kiss right on Castiel’s open mouth, cutting him off mid-sentence. It was followed by the most awkward rejection, feeling Castiel push him away and scold him for it.

 

Groaning, Dean buries his face into Castiel's shoulder, “Thanks for reminding me of the most embarrassing night of my life.”

 

“I thought it was endearing,” Castiel says innocently.

 

Snorting, “Obviously you thought it was disgusting. You practically threw me off of you.”

 

“You were just a child,” Castiel explains, “I wanted you to wait until you’d experienced all your own earthly desires.”

 

Dean laughs loudly, not believing a word that was coming out of his mouth. “You disappeared right after!”

 

“To come here,” Castiel clarifies, tightening his hold on Dean’s waist, “I disappeared to come straight to you. I would have stayed to explain, but you know I can’t control when I go. It just happens. I do not know why you were embarrassed, Dean. You’ve known since you were a child that we’ll always be together.”

 

“As friends,” Dean adds.

 

“As whatever you wish,” Castiel smiles, pressing his lips back against Deans.

 

 

**June 1993**

_Dean is 14_

 

His Dad was driving the Impala, looking out the window with a stony expression on his face. He’d found a werewolf case, heart tore out the man's chest and bite marks all over his inner thighs and genital areas. His corpse had been mutilated, and sexual organs ripped to ribbons. 

 

Apparently, the werewolf had sexually assaulted the corpse.

 

The local police thought it was an animal attack, followed by a necrophiliac taking advantage of the body. They found the body roughly ten days after the death, meaning the decay was already spread over most of the skin. Still, they found fresh sperm on the victim. Dean shivers at the thought.

 

Monsters were usually straightforward, this was a little different.

 

It was two types of monsters rolled up in one, unpredictable but bound by its species. His Dad had wanted to leave them behind, Dean had overheard the phone call. Bobby sounded upset that he couldn’t help out, on his own case with his buddy Rufus, and Pastor Jim also couldn't babysit, Dean hadn’t heard his excuse. He was kind of excited to be brought along on a case this dangerous, but then his thoughts drifted to Sam’s safety.

 

His dad won't let him stay alone with Sam, because of a stupid mistake he made when he was a kid. The options were limited, no real solution except hauling them into the back of the Impala and hoping for the best. Sam was only ten, practically a baby still. He was a genius, though. Dean could probably use this as a reason he would be able to take care of Sam on his own if he decided to argue the point. But knowing his Dad, all it would earn him would be a slap.

 

Instead, he thinks about his own involvement. He usually helped anytime it was a spirit, but other than that it was rare he was allowed to tag along.

 

“Am I going to be helping with the hunt, Sir?”

 

John’s eyes never leave the road, “I don’t know. It’s different than our usual gigs.”

 

“Because of the rape?” Dean asks, voice soft. He cringes as the word leaves his mouth.

 

Turning the radio down, John glances into the rear view mirror. “Yes. That one of the reasons.”

 

“That’s not typical monster behavior, right?” Dean feels wrong footed, like he should just shut up.

 

“Not for a werewolf.” John acknowledges, “But we’ll use it to our advantage.”

 

He feels sick to his stomach at the thought. “How?”

 

“Your brothers in the back.” Is all he gets in response. “Is this really the time to talk about the case?”

 

“No, Sir.” He replied, biting his tongue hard enough to draw blood. Great.

 

Honestly, all Dean wanted was for Castiel to be here. The angel would come swooping in and kick the bad guy's ass, it would be perfect. Of course, his Dad has no idea Castiel exists, so that might be a problem.

 

“You’re a good boy, Dean.” He suddenly says.

 

It was good to hear that. A blush forms on Dean’s cheeks, “Uh, thanks, Dad.”

 

“You take good care of your brother.” John adds, “I’m proud of you, son.”

 

Dean shakes his head, not use to the praise. He’s never been good at taking a compliment. “Thank you. I try to be good.”

 

The rest of the car ride is silent.

 

When they arrived at the crime scene, John ordering him to stay in the car with Sammy, Dean watched trepidatiously as his dad walked over to the police tape and bypassed it confidently. The area had already been crawled over by police and FBI, as the evidence markers showed, but since it was hours later and the middle of the night the place stood isolated. 

 

Dean crawls into the back seat, snuggling up to Sam for warmth. The night air was chilly, and John hadn't bought him a new coat since his growth spurt. Sammy, ten years old, hiccup-snores peacefully and curls closer to Dean. Sighing, Dean begins to run his fingers through Sam's too long hair whilst keep watch in case a monster tries to attack. John comes fumbling back, face grim as he gets into the driver's side.

 

John started, almost like he's talking to himself, "No corpse, they already took it to the coroners. But there was blood everywhere."

 

"Anything else?" Dean asks, whispering for Sam's sake.

 

Unsettled, John grimaces, "Both the victim and the attacker were males."

 

"We already knew that." Dean reminds, feeling Sam stiffen beneath him. _Great_ , the kid was waking up. "Wasn't that in the police report?"

 

"I just can't wrap my head around it, that's all," John replied, troubled. "I didn't think men raped other men. But the crime scene painted a pretty graphic picture. I just don't get it. I mean, why would they want to?"

 

Dean tastes bile rising in his throat. He longed for Cas to appear and take him away from this ordeal. "Maybe the werewolf likes men. He could be gay."

 

John hums in agreement, pulling the Impala into drive. "Another thing making him a monster."

  

Fighting the urge to cry, Dean peered out the window. His dad doesn't understand, can't comprehend the effect his words hold. Tears build up slowly in the corners of his eyes, blinking furiously they eventually disappear. 

 

Sam taps his side, slowly.  Dean, disoriented, looks down and see's the kid giving him a sincere smile. Sleep in his eyes and crease on his cheek from leaning against the ribbed seat during his nap. Dean's heart warms slowly at the sight of his baby brother. Murmuring low enough for John to miss, Dean leans close, "Go back to sleep, Sammy."

 

"Okay," He whispers back, first responding, "But I want you to know that I think its okay you're in love with Cas."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *At the end of this chapter, rape is mentioned with hard homophobia. It's there to demonstrate John Winchester's ignorance and the effects it has on Dean. Just a warning.


	2. Nobody said it was Easy

**February 1997**

_Dean is 18_

 

“I'm confused,” Dean says, face scrunched up. “Why are you going to the corner store by yourself? I can just as easily drive you.”

 

“Save the gas.” Sam shrugs, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. “I’m fourteen, Dean. I can walk a couple blocks by myself. When you were fourteen you were doing far more crazy things. Just trust me.”

 

Sighing, resigned, Dean nodded. “Okay, bitch. Go ahead. But if you’re not back in twenty minutes, I’m coming after you. You hear me? Dad has a list of chores and things he wants done and I need help. We’ve only got a week before he’s coming home.”

 

Sam had just smiled, opened the door and left.

 

That was five days ago, Dean thinks desperately. He squeezes the phone half upset, half worried. Dad was due back in three days and Sam was gone, disappeared like magic. But he knew it wasn’t anything supernatural, their money stash was gone as well. The kid must’ve hopped a bus or something. Flagstaff was terribly hot, even in February, so the kid couldn’t have hitchhiked much.

 

Not only was he worried sick about Sammy, but he was anxiously awaiting the return of their dad. It was impossible to know how he was going to respond to Sam running away. There was a pressure building in his chest, one he was sure meant all this worrying was affecting his health. Because even though he was ninety-nine point nine percent positive that Sammy had just run away, there was still the sliver of doubt that thought the kid had been taken by some monster.

 

He anxiously dialed his dad’s number, pausing for a couple seconds to think about what he was going to say. John was on a hunt a few states over, a simple salt and burn turned into a witch hunt. His dad was not going to be happy in the first place, probably drunk and tired. He’d be even more upset if Dean didn’t call ahead and explain that Sam was missing.

 

At the same time, Dean really didn’t want to call John. He didn’t want to know how disappointed his Dad was in him.

 

With his last pinch of determination, Dean pressed call.

 

Three short rings later, John picked up. “Who is it?”

 

“Uh, Dean. Sir.” He mumbled hesitant and nervous.

 

John huffed, “What is it, boy? I’m in the middle of a hunt.”

 

“It’s not that big of a deal,” Dean starts, wrapping the cord around his finger. His nerves building more and more as the silence drags on. “I mean, I don’t even know why I called you. It’s not life or death.”

 

“Then tell me when I get back.” John grouches, a thud following his voice. “As I said, I’m busy.”

 

He looks out the window, seeing cars whiz by. “Okay, but—”

 

His dad hangs up before he can say anything else. A lump forms in his throat. The few seconds they talked was enough to make his blood pump like he was going to pass out. Sam had been gone for five days, and it wasn’t going to get better.

 

On day seven Dean walks to the local park, praying he’d find Sam huddled under the playset or under the huge weeping willow. He’d see the kid on the outskirt of the field, standing with the hobos around a fiery metal bin. He doesn’t. Sighing, Dean walks to the bridge. Maybe the kid is under it, camping out. Living in a cardboard box.

 

He walks all over the damn place, checking everywhere that was the slight bit plausible.

 

It was no use, he’d eventually pick up his wounded pride and wander back to the apartment.

 

On day nine, Dean walked to the corner store. Figuring it wouldn’t hurt to try asking the guy behind the counter if he’d seen Sam, hold up his picture like it was on the back of a milk carton and play it up.

 

What he gets instead is Castiel, appearing in front of him

 

“Cas?” He says, smiling so hard his lips hurt. It had been a while since they’d seen each other. He finds the entire situation with Sam melting away, stowed in the back of his subconscious until he’s off the high of seeing Castiel again.

 

Cas doesn’t look happy though, he looks concerned. “Dean?”

 

“That’s my name,” Dean replies. He watches Castiel’s face twist in uncertainty. “You okay, buddy?”

 

Shaking his head, “I’m unsure. I was just with you and Sam, then I was transported here.”

 

“That is usually what happens,” Dean says with a worried half-grin, analyzing the Castiel in front of him.

 

“Not for me.” Cas comments, almost sardonically.

 

The realization hits Dean hard. His eyes widen, giddily, “Are you saying this is your first time, um, being here?”

 

“I believe so,” Cas says slowly, looking around like he doesn’t believe it’s real. He has a red patch on the front of his chest, blood actually. It startles Dean. He also notices the circles under Castiel’s eyes. Like he hasn’t slept in days. “Maybe I stepped back into the portal, it could’ve changed location’s since I stepped through it.”

 

“Why are you bleeding, Cas?’ He asks, frantic. Ignoring the portal talk. Though he would think about it later, when he is awake in his bed. Sleepless and curious, brain working on overdrive.

 

Castiel looks down, sees the spot and shrugs. “I’m not injured.”

 

“Okay,” Dean says, trying to calm himself down. He notices the blood is drawing attention. Several pedestrians have stopped and started to stare at the two of them. “Let’s go back to the apartment, you’re drawing too much attention to us with that. And I’m sure the age difference is really bringing the creepiness factor home. Let’s go before they call the cops.”

 

“Creepiness?” Cas picks up the word.

 

Dean grabs Castiel’s hand, “Pedophile wise. You look like you're in your forties and I’m barely legal.”

 

“You mean these people think I’m a child predator?” Cas asks, glancing around at the onlookers.

 

He starts dragging Cas, “Yeah. No offense, though. I mean, you're attractive for a middle age man.”

 

“I’m older than the galaxy.” Cas says, “That's more than thirteen billion years old, Dean.”

 

Dean purses his lips, pausing, his hand sagging between them. Gathering his words, “Then, you’re hot for being older than dirt.”

 

“I’m hot?” Cas questions, letting himself be dragged again. “Actually I’m rather cool. Maybe it’s a temperature. I was just transported to an unknown location. My bodily temperature could be fluctuating.”

 

“You really don’t know what’s happening?” Dean asks, they’re finally at the doorstep. Dean turns his key and gestures for Cas to go in. When Castiel doesn’t respond, Dean rewards the question. “You’re clueless?”

 

“Yes, Dean.” He finally says, frustrated, going over to sit on the couch. “I’m out of the loop, as you might say. Care to fill me in? I already gathered this is different from where I just came from. You’re clearly younger than when I left you. You seem to know what’s happening as well, which I can only assume means that I travel to you a lot. Adding this to the Castiel I just encountered from my own time, I suspect I’ve been sent back in time.”

 

Dean listens to the rants in awe. Castiel had just revealed a lot of secrets, future spoilers. If his Cas could only see him now. It was kind of crazy to think that, Castiel was the same person no matter when he came from. He shrugs to Cas, “You pretty much hit the nail on the head. I’ve known you my whole life, Cas. Popping up since I was born, I guess. You never told me how you got sent back, but I assume it just happened for you.”

 

“Yes,” Cas confirms, “I had wondered about the other Castiel I had just come in contact with.”

 

“You saw yourself?” Dean asks, grinning. “That’s so cool.”

 

“Actually, he was rude. Called me a tightass.” Castiel informs, then adds. “Sorry to let you down.”

 

“Nah,” Dean shook his head, grinning. “I’m just happy you're here. I’ve been having a rough week.”

 

Castiel stands up, walking over to him. He places his hand on Dean’s shoulder, “Tell me what’s wrong.”

 

“Sam’s missing,” Dean says, funereal. “And I called Dad, but the old bastard never cares. Didn’t even let me tell him, hung up on me. I mean, I could’ve been more urgent, told him it was an emergency, but I know the kids just run away from home. Nothing's got him, yet.”

 

Looking deeply into Dean’s eyes, taking his breath away, “I’ll go find him for you.”

 

“What?” Dean says, dazed. He’s still lost in Castiel’s intense stare.

 

“I believe I remember this story,” Castiel says, face passive as if trying to recall the memory, “Sam running away from you, in Flagstaff. He was in a motel, I believe. With a dog named Bones, eating pepperoni pizza, and drinking a carbonated soda called mountain dew.”

 

“A fucking dog? Are you serious?” Dean exclaims.

 

Castiel ignores the outburst, “How long until your dad gets home?”

 

Dean breaks the eye contact, “Well, he was supposed to be gone a week, but the hunt is taking longer.”

 

“I’ll bring Sam back as quick as I can,” Castiel promises, “If this is what I can do for you now Dean, maybe it’ll be my penance. Help you forgive me for my future sins. I want to, no, need to come back here with a win for you.”

 

“Cas?” Dean looks at his friend, really looks. Castiel looks terrible. He sits him down on the couch, taking a seat right next to him. “Maybe you should relax first.”

 

“Sam is missing. I can’t rest until I’ve found him for you.” Castiel says, desperately. “Not after what I left you with.”

 

Curiously, “What did you leave me with?”

 

“A mess.” Castiel looks ashamed. “Dean, I just keep failing. Please allow me to do this for you.”

 

“Sure, man.” Dean agrees easily, then adds, “But I’ll be less worried if you chill out.”

 

Sighing defeatedly, “Fine.”

 

“Okay,” Dean smiles, relieved. “Take off that shirt. We gotta wash that huge blood stain out of it. You got any quarters? I used my last on Sammy’s stinky socks and underwear.”

 

Castiel shakes his head, “No. All I have in my pockets are—”

 

“Are what?” Dean asks, confused by the cutoff.

 

“This wasn’t there before,” Castiel says shakily, pulling out a piece of paper slowly. It’s a polaroid.

 

“Wow,” Dean says, getting a glimpse at the picture.

 

It’s a picture of him and Castiel, kind of blurry and the flash overexposing the lighting, but it’s still beautiful. They’re on a dock, lake behind them orange from the sunset. Dean recognizes it immediately. It’s the lake behind the campground his Mom and Dad use to go to when he was small. They’d stay in a tent, dig up worms or nightcrawlers, and go fishing. It was one of his more fonder memories of his parents.

 

The image shows Castiel taking the picture, holding the camera above them to snap the polaroid. They’re both laying on the dock, a white and green checker blanket beneath them. It’s the most peaceful he’d ever seen his older self, not that he’d had a lot of encounters with the man. Only when Castiel felt generous enough to pull out his touchscreen telephone.

 

His face was littered with freckles, nose slightly sunburnt, and hair wet. His arm was fit snuggly around Castiel’s bare waist. Dean notices immediately that he’s got a tattoo on his chest. Castiel has one too, now that he’s paying attention. Some symbols on his stomach. They both weren’t wearing shirts, probably from swimming.

 

They’re really close together, cheeks practically touching. It looked very intimate.

 

Castiel looked different too, wiser maybe. His eyes seem more focused, like he felt confident in himself. Dean almost swooned looking at him, this was the Castiel he knew. Not a Castiel who was wallowing in guilt and self-inflicted pain.

 

On the bottom of the polaroid there is a note, handwriting like chicken scratch. Dean scans over it, then reads it out loud, “October sixth, two thousand-sixteen. This is for the Castiel who doesn’t believe in himself.”

 

“That was about—” Castiel cuts himself off, glancing over at Dean, “I suppose I shouldn't reveal the date.”

 

“What does it mean?” Dean asks, reading over it again. “The Castiel who doesn't believe in himself?”

 

“My future self must have slipped this into my pocket,” Castiel explains, tightly.

 

“He’s great,” Dean enthuses, wanting Cas to like his future self. “He’s been my best friend since I was a child. Was there for me anytime I needed him.”

 

“I’m glad you like him,” Castiel says, shoving the picture back in his pocket. “But I’m not his biggest fan.”

 

“Well,” Dean suddenly smiles, “You’ll be him soon. So I’m sure that attitude will change.”

 

“Free will,” Castiel says gently, like he’s worried Dean will be upset, “I’ll be whoever I want to be.”

 

“Whatever.” Dean shrugs, not convinced. “You got any quarters?”

 

Castiel shakes his head, “No. Just a wallet with a couple tens and a maxed stolen credit card.”

 

“Maxed out, huh?” Dean teases, “What are you buying?”

 

“Diapers,” Castiel deadpans.

 

Disappointment fills Dean’s veins. Cas has a kid? A kid Dean had never heard mentioned before? Must be with his hunter husband from the future. Stabs Castiel in the heart, but get’s to keep it. He pushes away the jealousy and dissatisfaction. Hell, he might be applying some throwaway comment Castiel said to another situation, the baby might not even be his. It could be Sam's, _and that's a weird though_. “Oh. You must’ve bought a lot of diapers to max out a credit card.”

 

“Of course, Dean. Everybody poops, and with a Nephilim, you have to be prepared for anything.” Cas says.

 

“Nephilim?” He asks, testing out the weird name.

 

Castiel shakes his head, “I probably shouldn’t be telling you this.”

 

“Please?” Dean asks, pouting his lip.

 

“It’s a half human, half angel baby.” Castiel gives-in. “No more questions though. I feel like I should make rules for this.”

 

“Don’t worry,” Dean attempts rolls his eyes, pretend his world isn't rupturing into a million pieces. Because maybe he still had hope that Cas would end up with him, a small sliver of him was sure they were meant for each other. Now he was just hurt over Castiel having a baby and never discussing it before now, “I’ve heard the rules over a hundred times. I’m pretty sure they’re engraved into my eyelids. Don’t ask questions about the future, don’t ask about the thing that killed mom, and don’t tell anyone about the time-traveling angel that visits me.”

 

“Sounds reasonable.” Castiel nods.

 

Dean looks down at the blood, “If we don’t have any coins, how are you going to get rid of that stain?”

 

Snapping his fingers, the shirt is abruptly clean. “I can repair myself.”

 

“Why didn’t you mention that before?” Dean shouts, laughing.

 

Castiel tilts his head curiously, standing up. “I’m going to go look for Sam now. Thank you for the relaxation.”

 

Scrambling from the couch, Dean is ready to say no but stops himself. Castiel is grown up. He can do whatever he wants, Dean can’t boss him around like he does with Sammy. “Okay. My dad will probably be back in two days. If the hunt goes well.”

 

“I’ll hurry. All I’ve got to do is check out every single hotel, motel, and cheap apartment in the Flagstaff area. Then check every single room.” Castiel says, looking to the door. “I wish I had my wings, then I would be quicker. But legs are just as capable. I’ll see you soon, Dean.”

 

“Bye, Cas.” Dean had said. 

 

That was three days ago. John is coming home today. He’d called ahead, only ten minutes out.

 

He hasn’t seen Sam in twelve days, Cas in three. Either Cas had disappeared mid-search, off to some other form of Dean, or he’s still trying to find Sam. Both options sound terrible.

 

Dean had given up looking by himself, a one-man search party couldn't really cover that much area. He'd resided to cowering under the covers of his bed, waiting for John to arrive and kill him. Sam was his responsibility and he'd let him out of his sight. Screwing his eyes shut, a subtle headache pulsing behind his forehead, Dean waited. He let the coolness of the sheets get gradually warmer with his body heat, the only indication of time passing. 

 

The door bangs open.

 

"Where's Sam?"

 

Letting out a sob, Dean shifts further into the darkness. He can't do this. He isn't ready.

 

John walks over, tearing the blankets from his body. Shivering, now cold, Dean refuses to pick up his head. 

 

"I'm not in the mood for your games, Dean." His dad slurred, reeking of alcohol. "Hunt gone wrong, and I'm barely hanging on by a thread here."

 

Sniffing, Dean says, "Sam's missing."

 

John looks belligerent, face red. He grabs Dean's leg, pulling him out of the bed and dragging him onto the floor with a painful thump. He yelps like a dog, trying to break free of the hold. No, this can't be happening. He's not a child anymore, he's eighteen-mother-fucking-years-old. He yanks his ankle free, skirting away from John's hands and leaning against the opposing wall. Pressing himself into the grain, as far away from this man as he can possibly get. This man he loved and respected, his own goddamn father.

 

 "Get over here," John commands, face twisted. "It's your fault that he's gone, isn't it? Get over here now and accept the punishment."

 

"Dad, please." He whispered, scared. 

 

John steps closer, "If you don't come here, I'll come to you. And it'll be worse since you disobeyed me."

 

Crying softly, Dean reluctantly walked over to his Dad. Tilting his face down, looking at his shoes. John grabbed his chin, then without warning his hand hit and Dean fell with the force of it. Laying on the floor, Dean wilted. He kept his position, not bothering to get up. John began to kick his stomach, now. It was relentless. He felt the wind knock out of him during one fateful blow, and the next was like a broken rib. Closing his eyes, he became content. This was the end. This was how he was going to die.

 

"I'd stop that if I were you," Castiel sounded far away.

 

John stopped kicking him, Dean sighed in relief, "Who the fuck are you?"

 

"I'm going to be your killer if you don't stop hurting him."

 

Dean panicked, Cas couldn't hurt his dad. It would ruin everything. Dizzy and unable to focus, he urged himself to speak, "I'm okay, Cas."

 

It came out a wheezed gargle, but both men heard him. John spoke, furious, "You the monster that took Sam?"

 

"No, but you're the one that made him run away." Castiel spat back. Then Dean blacked out.

 

 

 

 

**November 1983**

_Dean is 4_

 

When Dean dreams of him that night, sitting by the lake that his parents take him to during the summer, he doesn’t immediately crawl into the man's lap.

 

“My Mommy is mad at me because of you,” He tells him. Watching the phrase comprehend on the man's face. “She tells me I need to stop talking about you because you aren’t real. Trench coat man, she still doesn’t believe. Is it cos’ she’s too old?”

 

“Castiel,” Trenchcoat man says warmly, “Remember Dean? It’s Castiel.”

 

Pouting, “I can’t remember that! It’s harder than my own last name.”

 

“How about just Cas, then?” The trench coat man says twinkle in his eye like this is all extremely amusing to him. Dean pouts even harder, feeling left out of a joke. He hates it when his parents do it to him, or talk about him like he isn’t in the room.

 

He crosses his arms, “Are you making fun of me?”

 

“I would never,” The trench coat man says, suddenly very serious.

 

Taking his word, Dean tests out the new information, “So I should call you Cas?”

 

“Correct,” Cas says, patting his lap in invitation. “And it’s time for a cuddle, okay?”

 

Lighting up, Dean tries to crawl onto Cas’s lap, failing hard and giggling each time he fell, “Pick me up! Pick me up! Mommy always picks me up because I’m too short.”

 

Cas picks him up, a bit reluctantly, “You’ll be taller than me soon. And you need to learn to do things on your own. I will not always be here to pick you up. Okay? Neither will your Mommy.”

 

“Are you an angel?” Dean asks, staring into Cas’s eyes, “That weird Jesus girl told me you were.”

 

Cas hums, “That would be spectacular. Me being an angel. Do you think I am?”

 

“Of course,” Dean says without hesitation. “I love angels. They’re so beautiful. I wish I could have wings and fly around and sit on clouds.”

 

“‘Ein jeder Engel ist schrecklich.‘”

 

Dean sighs, a little soft sigh that means _I don’t speak German, remember?_ “Huh?”

 

“‘Every angel is terrifying.’ It’s part of a series of poems called The Duino Elegies, by a poet named Rilke. He’s one of my favorite poets.” Cas reveals this like it’s a piece of C.I.A. information, something he’s kept guarded against his chest without letting go, before now. “Angels aren't cherubs with harps, my Love. They're warriors of God.”

 

“My mom tells me angels are watching over me.”

 

Pulling him into a tight hug, Cas says, “It’s almost time for you to wake up. And before you do, I want you to know that you are the best boy in the whole world. I am very proud of who you are becoming. You are very sweet for caring about your brother, so that is why you need to go into his nursery. Okay?”

 

“Why?” Dean asks, “Mommy gets mad when I wake up baby Sammy.”

 

“You need to go there as soon as you wake up.” Cas firmly says. “Do you understand?”

 

Huffing, “Okay. But if I get into trouble, I’m blaming you.”

 

Cas sighs, “Be brave, Dean.”

 

His eyes fly open wide, Trench Coat man’s face engraved onto the deepest pit of his mind; he slowly gets out of bed. Tiptoeing out of his room. The scent of smoke engulfs his nose, orange fire spilling into the hallway; he coughs and runs into Sammy’s nursery.

 

His Dad is standing in the middle of the fire screaming his Mom’s name when he sees Dean he push his baby brother into his arms. The weight is foreign to Dean, only having held Sammy once and it was with his Mom’s support. The frantic look on his Dad’s face makes him feel like he can do it, though.

 

“Take your brother outside as fast as you can and don’t look back!” John yells as the flames grow taller. “Now, Dean! Go!”

 

He looks up, regretting it immediately, his Mom on the ceiling, burning. He runs, tears stream down his face as he races down the stairs. Sammy is crying even harder in his arms so Dean tries to pull himself together. For Sammy’s sake.

 

He screams out for the Trenchcoat man, it feels weird calling for him now. Like the man really was just a dream, but his heart is beating too fast and the world is ending. Reality and pretend are melting together.

 

The baby gate is shut at the bottom of the stairs, so he has to jump over it, scraping his leg on the sharp plastic corner. He opens the door and almost trips as an explosion rocks the house. Before he can even begin to worry, his Dad bursts out of the front door, his arm over his face as he races to Dean. He grabs him up and carries them away.

 

Flames explode from the windows in another explosion, confirming the simple fact. His Mom was gone.

 

Was the Trenchcoat man really a time traveler?

 

He’d told Dean to be brave, to go to Sammy’s room. It was hard to think about, especially with so many grownups asking him questions and bothering him. They asked him if there was anything he remembered, anything strange he saw, and he wanted to cry. They looked at him with worried glances when he told them about the way his Mom was on the ceiling.

 

Neighbors stood around the ambulance, pitying faces as they looked at him. He didn’t shy away because when he stares back they eventually averted their eyes. He caught sight of a trench coat and froze, tried to tug out of his Dad’s hold. The man looked at him, straight-faced.

 

“Dad,” Dean cheered up. Because the man was an angel and he would help, “There’s the Trenchcoat man!”

 

Instead of letting him go, his Dad gripped him tighter, “Shut up, Dean. I’m so—”

 

Dean looked at the tears now falling from his Dad’s face. “Why are you crying?”

 

“I need you to be good for me,” his Dad said. “And never mention that man again. I can’t handle it. Not now, not when Mary just died or our house just burns down. I was wrong before; those childish fantasies need to go. You’re too old for them. Mary was right. She was right and now she’s gone.”

 

The trench coat man never took his eyes off Dean, now sad. As he disappeared into thin air, Dean had never felt so alone.


	3. Block Out the Sounds Around Us

**September 2008**

_Dean is 29_

 

He takes his first shower, and it is soothing. Watching the mud and soap mix and fill the drain.

 

Dean waits until his clothes come out of the drier, warm and smelling like apples, before he asks Bobby where Sam is. The question leaves an awkward pause between them; Bobby looks down at the floor in discomfort.

 

“He took off,” The words sound heavy, Bobby chews on his lip. “I tried to stop him.”

 

Taking a labored breath, Dean says, “That’s okay. I know you tried. Sam’s always been stubborn.”

 

They track his phone, Dean praying that he being in Pontiac is not some messed up sign. That the shaggy-haired loser didn’t sell his soul for Dean.

 

He wishes Cas was here, the thought makes him squirm. He absentmindedly muses if Cas had popped up during Dean’s death, had seen his grave and cried. He wonders if the last time he saw Cas, the angel knew he was going to be resurrected. Those soft words he had whispered, was that just his imagination or had Cas really saved him?

 

Dean tries not to let the thoughts linger, does not let his mind yearn for Cas like he wants to.

 

The drive to the Astoria Hotel was quick, in no time they’re pulling into the Hotel where Sam is staying.

 

The two walk down the hall towards his room, Bobby knocks on the door. 207 with a little heart. A bombshell brunette opens the door. She is wearing an outrageously skimpy outfit, spaghetti string tank top, and floral underwear.

 

"Did we order a pizza or something?" She chirps, confusion blooming on her face.

 

Dean’s wide-eyed, not hiding his blatant checking out, "I think we got the wrong room."

 

Sam walks out from the bathroom and begins to speak, sees them and freezes. Eye's hovering on Dean.

 

"Hey, kid." Dean watches the wonder fall off his face. He's breathing hard now. Sucking in big gulps of air and looking at Dean like he's going to attack. Instead of walking into the room first, Dean lets Bobby.

 

"Who are you?" Sam's voice ragged.

 

"It's me," Dean says, holding up his hands. "Ask Bobby."

 

Sam looks at Bobby, who gives a single nod, "It's really him, Sam. I tried every test known and he passed all of them. Not a shapeshifter, reverent, or demon. One hundred percent Dean."

 

"How?" He chokes out. It is like a tension uncurls from Sam’s shoulders as he realizes it’s genuinely Dean. They are finally reunited. Sam gives him a fond gaze, tears welling up in his eyes.

 

Dean raises an eyebrow, "We were hoping you'd fill in the missing pieces."

 

Sam tackles him in a swift hug, pulling him into the room and burying his head into Dean's neck. Crying softly. In a way that is as comforting as possible, Dean starts to rub the back of Sam's head just like when the kid was little. Back when Sammy had nightmares, he’d crawl into Dean’s bed and beg for a cuddle.

 

They pull apart, Sam's eyes red from crying and nose slick with snot.

 

The girl coughs, "So are you two, like, together?"

 

"We're brothers," Dean’s face twisting in disgust, the chick totally ruined the moment.

 

She has a thoughtful look on her face, "Oh. I guess I should go. You're having your big family reunion. It would be rude to stay."

 

"Yeah. That's probably a good idea," Sam says, not taking his eyes off Dean, "Sorry."

 

Dean sends her a wink as she pulls on a bomber jacket, twisting as she walks out the door, "So, call me?"

 

"Right," Sam fake smiles, "Sure thing, Kathy."

 

"Kristy." Her face is priceless.

 

"What?" Sam asks. "Right. Sorry."

 

Kristy looks wistfully at Sam then begins to walk away. Sam shuts the door with a loud slam, turning back to face them in a fit of hysteria. "How the fuck are you alive?"

 

"Long story," Dean says, focusing on the present. “But first I gotta ask, since when did you become a ladies man, Sammy? That girl was a solid ten and she looked very depressed when you forgot her name. I must say, I’m proud of you.”

 

"Did you sell your soul?" Bobby interrupted. "Or something worse?"

 

"You guys think I made a deal?" Sam look’s completely put out.

 

Bobby nods bluntly, "And we think it was some bad mojo you dipped into, boy."

 

"I didn't," Sam defends, studying Dean, "You believe me, right?"

 

"How else would I have been resurrected, Sam? I'm not calling you a liar. But If you didn't do it, who did?" Dean asked, trying to keep neutral.

 

"I don't know," Sam inhales, "I tried to make a deal the day after we buried you. No demon would deal. I even tried to open the devil's gate. I wish I'd saved you, but it wasn't me. I wish to God it was."

 

"I believe you," Dean finally says, pulling him back in for another hug, "It’s okay. I know you tried. But to be honest, I'd rather have rotted in hell for an eternity than you take my place."

 

"Not to ruin the mood," Bobby starts, "But if Sam didn't do it, then who did? Because if he didn't pull you out, that does raise a sticky question," Bubby suddenly looks intrigued, turning to point a finger at Sam, “Why were you hanging around here anyway? You want to stick close to your brother's corpse just for the fun of it?"

 

"No. There's been a lot of demonic activity here," Sam says, sitting down on the bed. "I've been tracking down Lilith. Thought this might have been a good place to start."

 

"Hunting?" Dean scolds, "On your own? You should've called Bobby. He'd have helped you."

 

Sam looks down in embarrassment, "I know. I'm sorry, Bobby. I was pretty messed up."

 

Dean shoots a pointed look at a tied-off condom in the wastebasket, "I'm sure you've been grieving. That hot piece of ass that just walked out without her bra might I add, really proves it."

 

A blush creeps up Sam's neck, "Anyway, yesterday morning they really started freaking out. Demons galore."

 

"That's when I popped out of the ground," Dean informs them.

 

Bobby looks thoughtful, "Maybe it's connected. Some next level demon pulled you out. All the weaker demons must want a show. Which means we've got a butt load of demons in town, a resurrected Winchester, and no idea what's going on. I say we need some help. A psychic could probably tell us more than we know."

 

“A psychic?” Dean asks trepidatiously, psychics have always secretly freaked him out.

 

"Pamela Barnes." Bobby continues, "She's a few hours from here. But a damn good psychic. She's probably heard the other side talking, considering how many demons we've got here."

 

Sam nods, "I'm ready for some vail gossip."

 

"It's worth a shot," Dean seconds.

 

Bobby’s already walking out the door, "I'll be right back. Need to call her first."

 

"Have, um—" Dean struggles to ask, has been holding back the questions since he's got here. "Have you seen Cas?"

 

Shaking his head, Sam gives him a pitying smile. "No, man. I'm sorry. I haven't seen him, not since that night. He stopped Lilith from hurting me."

 

Pride fills his veins, combined with longing. "Of course he's that powerful. God, I miss him."

 

Sam glances down, still troubled. Dean watches him curiously. " _Uh_ , God, I— fuck. I can't believe I'm about to ask this, but what is Cas? I know he's not human. That much is obvious. But you've never told me what he is. He's just always been around. Since we were kids. Is it some big secret he's making you keep from me, or are you embarrassed?"

 

"Why would I be embarrassed?" Dean asked pointedly. _Great_ , they just reunited and he's already getting irritated at his brother. 

 

"I mean," Sam runs a hand through his hair, searching for words, appearing apologetic. "He could be a demon."

 

Laughing sharply, "He's not a demon, Sam. Far from it."

 

"Listen, you've been in love with him your whole life. If he were a demon, I'd be alright with it." Sam says, shrugging.

 

Dean looks Sam straight in the eyes, "Well I wouldn't. If he were a demon, I'd exorcise his demonic ass faster than you could say stop. Demons are evil, Sam.  No matter what."

 

"Ruby wasn't evil," Sam says quietly, then looks like he regrets it.

 

 Shaking his head, angry, "Don't you dare compare Cas to that black-eyed bitch. Demons are evil. It's a pretty easy philosophy, one we grew up with, remember it?"

 

Dean moves to follow Bobby and Sam grabs his arm, apologetic, "Hey, wait. Before you storm off angrily, I know you probably want this back."

 

He hands Dean his amulet.

 

"Yeah. Thanks," Dean doesn't cry. His emotions are all over the place, going from angry to pacified. He slips it over his head.

 

"It's your neckless. Not mine," Sam responds, and then adds, "If you don't mind me asking, what was it like? Hell, I mean."

 

“I don’t know,” Dean lies instinctively, “I— uh, I must have blacked out. Don’t remember a damn thing.”

“I’m just glad you’re back, man.” Sammy breaks again, pulling him into another hug.

 

Dean sighs, leaning into the embrace. He’d been in hell, he could handle some chick flick moments for Sam.

“Me too.”

 

 

**March 2017**

_Dean is 38_

 

 

 

“So get this,” Sam says, “I found us another Case.”  


“Already?” Dean glares at Sam’s phone in exasperation. “We just got back from the hellhound gig, Baby is still wrecked, and we haven’t heard about Lucifer’s lovechild in weeks. Maybe we should slow down, let me take a shower, and send someone else on it.”

 

“Its witches,” Sam mentions nonchalantly, like he doesn’t know he just swindled Dean into it.

 

Dean grouches, “Fucking witches. I hate ‘em.”

 

That means they go, no matter how originally reluctant. Because Dean has this vendetta against witches. They are his least favorite things to hunt, but usually the most satisfying to kill. Just the thought makes his blood pump. He shudders thinking back to their last encounter with the hags; the witches made him forget everything.

 

On the way, they stop at a diner, because of course, they always do.

  
“What’s up with this case?” Dean asks, tongue blistering as he downs his instant Joe. It’s not good coffee, goes down like mineral oil and coats his throat.

 

Sam looks up from his phone, texting Cas to meet them here, blinks slowly, “What do you mean? I thought I covered it pretty well.”

 

“Okay,” Dean agrees sarcastically, “But you still haven’t explained anything. You have been extremely uptight about this one for some reason. All I know is that a coven has been terrorizing a hick town in the Appalachians. That’s all. Not how, or why, or when this even happened.”

 

“Why are you upset?” Sam asks, curiously, “No matter the context, if the witches are playing parlor tricks or murdering people, we need to stop it.”

 

“You’re sounding like Dad,” Dean blows out a puff of air loudly, “Or like the British men of letters.”

 

“Is that a bad thing?”

 

Before Dean can reply with, _of fucking course it's a bad thing, Sasquatch._ Castiel magics next to their booth. 

 

Sam shakes his head, glancing around to make sure no one noticed. "You're lucky no one spotted that."

 

"Yes." Is all Cas replies, sitting next to Dean easily. He gives Dean a coy smile, stealing his coffee mug right from under his nose.

 

Dean can't stop staring at him, "How are you?"

 

"As well as expected." His face does the opposite of smiling, blinking feverously, then takes a sip of Dean’s coffee and frowns harder. “This is horrible.”  
  


The waitress sets their plates in front of them, refills Dean’s almost empty coffee cup and stares at Castiel for too long before she scurries off. Castiel looks at her curiosity, staring at her white shoes as if they’re the key to everything. Dean practically jumps when Cas settles his hand on his knee; Sam shakes his head again.

 

“I really mean it,” Castiel eventually says, taking another sip of the coffee, “This is gross and too hot.  Why are you drinking it?”

 

“Why are you?” Dean counters.

 

“Touché.”

 

Dean steals the hot mug from Castiel's hands taking a huge gulp, ignoring Sam’s eyes on them. He fiddles with the cups handle, sloshing the liquid in his mouth before swallowing it. How can he ask this question without Sam tuning in?

 

“Where did you just come from?” He over enunciates, flinching at the poor unsubtle attempt.

 

His mind auto correcting. When not where.

 

“Well,” Castiel considers the question, finally saying, “A little boy just called me trench coat man.”

 

Letting out a breath, Dean barely finds his voice. “Sounds like a good time. Better than here.”

 

“It was good. Simpler,” Castiel smiles, leaning closer, “But I’d rather be here.”

 

“Poor little boy,” Dean says, soft. “Already rejected?”

 

“Never,” Castiel assures, “No matter the exterior, his soul is the brightest.”

 

Sam looks back and forth between them, shaking his head, “I hate when you guys do that. Talk in riddles and codes.”

 

“That’s why we do it,” Dean tries to joke, nudging Cas with his shoulder, “Just to torment you.”

 

"I'm about to leave," Cas informs them, "Unfortunately I can't stay for long, another Dean needs me."

 

"I need you," Dean hears himself say. He'll be embarrassed about this later, about letting Sam see this side of him, when the love of his life isn't so close but out of reach.

 

Cas gives him a loving smile, "I know, my love. And since the waitresses shoes are white, I'll be seeing you very soon. Make sure he sticks around, it'll be worth it."

 

He doesn't ask, all this reveals is that Castiel somehow figured out the date, but they stopped playing that game a long time ago. When Castiel slowly disappears, eyes shining as he stares into Dean’s, he cannot help the nervous pounding of his heart.

 

Sam talks, breaking the bubble Dean had encased himself in. Running a hand over his face, "Crowley is going to be zapping them here. Cas says he's sorry in advance."

 

"Great," Dean says sarcastically. "That's all we needed. Tweedle Dee and Dum, together. Why can't Cas just drive himself?"

 

"Apparently they're too far away to drive. Cas says this will be easier." Sam explains, obviously unconvinced himself.

 

It’s different from the way future Castiel shows up, slowly like all his molecules are having to be slotted together like a puzzle. Dean shoots Sam a warning look, begging him not to spill the beans. Of course, Sam knows he can’t talk about it, the kid nods like he can’t believe Dean still doesn’t trust him with this.

 

It’s just that Dean holds grudges, admittedly unwarranted but all the same. Ever since Sam blabbed to their Dad about Dean’s adult friend in the trench coat, he has been wary to tell the kid anything. Sammy must’ve been only ten years old, it’s a totally unnecessary resentment because that was over twenty years ago and their Dad isn’t even alive anymore.

 

Dean groans because magically blinking into existence in a full diner once without anyone seeing is enough of a stretch, but doing it, a second time with two people is absolutely impossible. The waitress from before drops her carafe, splashing coffee and shattering glass everywhere as she stares slack-jawed at Castiel and Crowley.

 

That horrible black coffee soaks her white shoes and Dean thinks back to the Castiel from earlier looking at them, making that random comment, that must’ve been how he realized the period. Dean stifles a laugh; of course, Castiel would use something as bizarre as shoes to know what date he’d appeared in.

 

The waitress turns and runs back into the kitchen like she got set on fire.

 

“Hello Dean,” He registers Cas greeting him, doesn’t turn his head. He just stares after the waitress in wonder. “I heard you needed my assistance.”

 

Crowley grins, sitting down on Sam’s side of the booth and forcing him to scoot over, “Yeah, Squirrel, what are we hunting today? The last one really let us bond, makes me feel all tingly thinking back to it.”

 

Dean looks over to Cas, who seems hesitant to sit next to him. Huffing, Dean pats the spot next to him in vexation, watching Cas wince as he reluctantly perches on the edge of the seat. He doesn’t know when Castiel started acting so weird around him, but it makes him feel unnerved. It makes his chest hurt and his toes curl uncomfortably.

 

“It’s a witch,” Dean's expression turns pensive as he explains the case. “She’s been pulling pranks on the local rednecks.”

 

“Witches?” Crowley says in disgust, “Why didn’t you call my mother instead?”

 

Castiel shuffles in his seat, face scrunched in confusion, “If it's just pranking then they aren’t hurting anyone. Why are we hunting them if they aren’t killing?”

 

Sam answers this one, “They’re witches. Where do you think they got their magic? Demons.”

 

“Or they could be light witches,” Crowley talks to them like they’re children. “Maybe they’re born with the gifts and aren't using dark magic. If they’re simply playing practical jokes then they could be children. This might just be juvenile adolescent witches.”

 

“I hate to say this,” Castiel wavers, sending Dean a quick glance, “But I agree with Crowley.”

 

“We still need to investigate,” Dean retorts, thinking back to the way Cas had urged him to keep Castiel around. He had this knowing look on his face, like this case was going to be terrible or something interesting was going to happen. It was such a major tip-off; Dean had to make sure Castiel stuck around. “And I’m sure having an angel up our sleeves would help if anything goes south.”

 

“Naturally,” Castiel looks away, sad twist to his mouth. “That’s why I’m here. To be up the Winchesters sleeve.”

 

“God,” Crowley crinkles his nose. “The man pain is almost too much to bear.”

 

Sam throws a couple bills down at the table, he gestures to the waitress from before, cellphone in hand as she’s staring at them “Let’s go get a motel room. We need to strategize more and I don’t think we’ll be able to do that when they call the cops on us.”

 

“She does seem frazzled,” Castiel agrees, looking at the waitress in interest. “We should go.”

 

Dean waits until Cas scoots from the booth before he follows. “Well, you did make her ruin her shoes.”

 

“And I thought you couldn’t get more gay,” Crowley mutters, walking ahead of them.

 

Sam bites his lip to stop from laughing.

 

They drive the Impala to the nearest motel. Crowley and Cas sitting in the back.

 

“Have you heard anything on Kelly Kline?” Sam asks, turning to the two in the back. Dean glances at them with the rearview mirror, catching the unusually smug look on Castiel’s face.

 

“Actually, yes. I was investigating two angels being killed.” Castiel says, pausing to squeeze his bottom lip between his thumb and pointer finger. “I saw the security footage of them stalking Kelly, almost stabbing her before a demon with yellow eyes interfere. The demon then took Kelly.”

 

“Another yellow-eyed demon? Great.” Dean grumbled sarcastically. “Do we at least know his name?”

 

“ _Her_ name.” Castiel corrects. “She had a female vessel.”

 

Scoffing, Dean pulls into the motel’s parking lot. “I don’t give a flying fuck what some yellow-eyed bitch identifies as. I just want to kill them and maybe kill Kelly Kline while we’re at it. So, and I’m expecting an answer this time, do we know her name?”

 

Instead of Cas, like he expects, Crowley speaks up. “Lucifer created four Princes of hell, probably a cheap copy of Daddy’s archangels. There was the infamous Azazel that had his special children, Ramiel that we just had an encounter with, Asmodeus who everyone presumes is dead, and Dagon being the only female prince of hell. With this information, my money’s on Dagon.”

 

“So all princes of hell are dead besides Dagon?” Sam asks, curiously.

 

Castiel shakes his head slowly. “Asmodeus might still be alive.”

 

They climb out of the Impala, walking to the front desk. Crowley nods, “I'm positive that Asmodeus is still alive, but he's keeping to his hobbies and that includes staying out of our way. He's not loyal to Lucifer. I don't think we need to go after him, especially when Dagon has Lucifer child to do as she pleases. We need to prioritize.”

 

They become quiet when they walk into the small room, attendant sitting behind the counter watching them suspiciously. Dean has the credit cards, so he pulls out his wallet and moseys over. He pulls out the Discover card and hands it to the lady. She crosses her arms. “How many beds do you boys want?”

 

“One will do.” Castiel chimes from behind him.

 

She nods like she was expecting that. “I have to warn you that we have a strict no film policy here.”

 

Crowley makes a lewd gesture, "Of course, Love. Now, be a nice pet and give us our keys."

 

She rolls her eyes at Crowley's antics, still giving Dean the key card. "Listen, my mother is the cleaner, she's old and fragile. Please don't ruin our sheets."

 

"We can't make that promise," Castiel says solemnly. "A monster usually soils them."

  

Sam grunts, clapping his hand over Castiel's mouth,  "We're not— We won't ruin your sheets."

 

Laughing, Crowley nods, winking at the grossed out receptionist, "I've got the monster, in case you were wondering." 

 

Dean thanks her sweetly, trying to ease the awkward tension that they created. "Don't worry, Darlin'. We're just old friends catching up, completely innocent." 

 

"Right," She huffed, leaning back and picking up her magazine. "I get the lingo. One bed, catching up. Just be quiet. Our walls are thin."

 

 

  

**October 2005**

_Dean is 26_

 

He breaks into Sam’s dorm like a creepy stalker, flirts with the kid's girlfriend, and casually convinces him to help track down Dad. Well, it’s not nearly as smooth as that, but Dean likes to embellish. He hasn’t seen Castiel since that night in the Impala, which isn’t surprising considering the angel’s visits are usually short and spaced out.

 

When he’d asked if Cas knew where his Dad was, Castiel just gave him one of those sad smiles and held him closer. Which meant in Castel language, “Yes, Dean. But that would be cheating so I can’t tell you.” Dean practically rolls his eyes at the thought.

 

Castiel, over Dean’s entire lifespan, had revealed sparse things about their relationship and the future. Dean knew that Castiel was an angel, kind of figured that out on his own. He knew that Castiel traveled in time, another thing he’d figured out on his own. He also knew that Castiel was his soul mate. Okay, maybe that wasn’t true, but it made the most sense.

 

Why else is Castiel sent through time only to Dean? When he finally meets Cas, not the future version of Castiel but the one that was existing during this time, Dean is sure they are going to be together. Cas had hinted they lived together, hunted together, and even slept together sometimes. When Dean had wiggled his eyebrows, Castiel had practically shouted the word platonically.

 

They don’t find John in Jericho, Sam shrugs and says better luck next time.

 

He shows Sam the fresh coordinates in the journal, trying to get the Sasquatch to understand that this might be where Dad needs them to go next. Sam just shakes his head, starts rambling about Stanford and his up in coming interview. Apparently, it’s his entire future on a platter. Whatever the fuck that means.

 

He drops Sam back off at Stanford, anger bubble under his skin. He’s about to drive away when Castiel appears in the passenger seat. He places his hand on Dean’s, gives him the most sympathetic look and manages to make him turn off the Impala. They sit in silence for a few seconds, hands intertwined.

 

“This is a short visit. I’m going to disappear already,” Cas says, voice gruff, “You need to help Sam.”

 

“When are you coming from?” Dean asks, ignoring Cas’s words. He needs to know.

 

Castiel squeezes his hand, “I was with you and Sam.”

 

“In the future?” He interrogates, hopeful. So this isn’t the end, even if it feels like it.

 

Nodding, “And if you want that future to happen, you’ll go to your brother”

 

“Right now?” His hands start to sweat. “What’s about to happen? Is it about Dad?”

 

Cas sighs, “Be brave, Dean.”

 

The words shake him to the core, unwanted nostalgia penetrates his thoughts, but he can’t focus on that fact when clearly Sam is in trouble. Jumping out of the Impala, internally thanking Castiel that he hadn’t driven off, Dean runs up to Sam’s dorm. Heat pools out the door, making his stomach flop.

 

Deja vu curls in his mind, kicking down the door he sprints into the bedroom. He sees the kid lying in a circle of fire, screaming Jessica’s name. Looking up, he almost wishes he hadn’t. The pretty blonde from before stuck on the ceiling like a creepy homage to the nursery scene. He carries Sam out, pulling him from the dorm before the flames take over.

 

They are by the Impala when the explosion sounds, Castiel is nowhere to be seen, even by the light of the growing fire. He holds Sam in his arms, listens to his sobbing and muffled words. Students are running from the dorm, most with their phones, probably calling 911. It takes Dean a couple seconds to adjust his mind to the damage.

 

Firefighters are there within minutes, they ask questions Dean doesn’t know the answer to. Apparently, Sam is in shock, they even wrap a blanket around him for good measure. When their eyes inevitably lock, Dean stands up. He found him. Castiel shakes his head, willing him to stay with his brother.

 

Castiel vanishes with a sad tilt to his mouth. Dean wants to hate him, but can’t find it in his heart.

 

 

 

**September 2008**

_Dean is 29_

 

When they reach Pam's house, Dean can’t stop thinking about Castiel. When was he going to meet him? How was he going to keep everything a secret? Pam opens the door with a giant smile and glint in her eyes, "Howdy' Bobby. You bring the whole gang around?"

 

Sam steps forward, "I can introduce—"

 

Pam gives him a smug smirk, and cuts off his sentence, rubbing a hand down Sam’s side. "Oh, I already know your names. Sam, Dean. And the extremely handsome Robert, here."

 

“Nice trick you’ve got there,” Dean looks her up and down, lingering on the swell of her breasts, "Seen someone at a circus do the exact same thing.”

 

Pam settles her eyes on him, “Dean Winchester, out of the fire and back in the frying pan. You look pretty good for being trapped in Hell for four months. That makes you special, ya know? Not many people get to resurrect like that and stay fresh-faced.”

 

“I moisturize.” He responds, sending Sam into a laughing fit.

 

Pam nods and looks at Bobby before motioning them into the house, “Come on in.”

 

They all cross her threshold; Dean takes notice of a picture of Sid Vicious hanging above the fire mantle and chuckles. Pamela likes Sex Pistols.

 

Sam looks around, hits Dean on the shoulder and nods towards the Jesse Forever tattoo Pam has on the small of her back. Instead of making some obnoxious comment like Sam expects him too, he rolls his eyes and asks, "Did you hear anything from the other side?"

 

She turns back to them and quirks her eyebrow, "Nope. I thought we could do a séance and maybe get a look at the monster that's practically claimed you."

 

"Claimed him?" Bobby looks like he just swallowed a lemon. "You mean the hand print?"

 

"Yeah." Pam raised her head from the tablecloth she's smoothing out, placed three candles in the middle, and lights them. Then smirked at their distressed expressions, "I can't read minds, but if someone's thinking about something hard, it might linger in the air and I can pick up on it."

 

Sam looks confused, "What hand print?"

 

Dean shucks off his shirt, showing his shoulder to his brother. Sam's face morphs into shock, then anger, "Why didn't I know about this?"

 

"Because I knew you'd get all pissy," Dean grins, ignoring the instinct to run away when he thinks about the ways he could’ve obtained the cicatrix, "Just like you're getting now."

 

"Are we ready?" Pam asks, gesturing to the seats around the table. When everybody claims a seat, she shuts the blinds and turns off the electricity, making the only light the dim candles in the middle of the table. "I'll need to touch the handprint. And everyone needs to hold hands."

 

And as Pam begins to conjure and command the demon to show his face, Dean feels a familiar sensation prickling at the base of his neck. Exactly like at the gas station. He opens his mouth to stop, “Pam, wait. This feels wrong.”

 

She shakes her head, the TV sparks alive and buzzes with static. "I've almost got 'em."

 

The windows shake, books fall from shelves, and the candles flicker brighter and brighter. The hand print begins to tingle. He tries again, "Pamela, this thing is obviously too strong to summon!"

 

"I'm just taking a peek," She yells over the destruction, "I conjure and command you, show me your face!"

 

Trying to stop the inevitable from happening, Dean rips his shoulder from her grasp, but it doesn't stop her.  In fact, it encourages her. "Castiel, really? Sorry Castiel, I don’t scare easy. Show me your face.”

 

“Castiel?” Sam’s speech is strange, slurred and heavy. Resembling time slowed down.

 

“Its name,” she clarifies. “It’s whispering to me, wanting me to turn back.”

 

Hearing another person calling Castiel's name brings everything in Dean’s mind to a halt.

 

“Maybe we should stop,” Thankfully Bobby has the right idea.

 

Dean can’t communicate, he’s in too much shock. He just stares when the flames grown on the candles, bursting and exploding Pamela’s eyes. She screams gutturally, it’s blood-curdling. Her eyes burn out of her skull, like a messed up version of Indiana Jones. If this really is Castiel, he prays it isn’t, he’s suddenly scared.

 

His Cas would never do this, he thinks frantically as he calls an ambulance.


	4. Back to the Basics

**November 1989**

_Dean is 10_

 

His dad comes out of the bedroom, loading his 9mm pistol. “All right. You know the drill, Dean. Anybody calls, you don't pick up. If it's me, I'll ring once, then call back. Did you get that? Lock the doors, the windows, and close the shades. Most important?”

 

“Watch out for Sammy,” Dean responses, “We've gone over it like a million times and you know I'm not stupid.”

 

Dad continues gathering his things. “I know you're not, but it only takes one mistake. All right. If something tries to bust in?”

 

“Shoot first, ask questions later,” Dean drones, looking over at Sam sprawled on the couch watching cartoons on TV. “I know.”

 

Taking his shoulder, “That's my man. I’m going to clean my pistol, then hit the road.”

 

Dean looks back down at the picture in his hand, a photo of a hand print. It’s connected to the thing his Dad’s hunting, so he pulls it to his chest and tightens his grip. If anything goes wrong, he’d have to call pastor Jim. Hopefully, the monster won’t be too bad.

 

Sam, like any other six-year-old, is a brat.

 

A completely uncontrollable child that their Dad has had enough of, Dean could tell as soon as the gun cleaning is thrown aside for a stomp out the door. He mutters something about a spanking, and Dean is quickly mother henning Sam into his pajamas and eating dinner.

 

Sam pushes his food around, “I’m sick of spaghettios.”

 

“We don’t have a lot of money, Sammy,” Dean tries to tell him, “And you’re the one who wanted them in the first place.”

 

“I want Lucky Charms!”

 

“There are no more Lucky Charms,” Dean lies, trying not to feel guilty about it.

 

“I saw the box,” Sam crosses his arms.

 

Dean groans, “Okay, maybe there is but there's only enough for one bowl and I haven't had any yet.”

 

Sam sticks his lip out in an adorable mope, “D'you want the prize? You can have it.”

 

He finally get’s Sam to lay still when Castiel appears and all his work becomes undone because Sam is like an excitable kitten. He pounces on his leg, launching out of the bed like a rocket.

 

Dean, although mad about Sam being out of bed, is so happy to see Cas he almost tackles him too.

 

“Cas!”

 

“Hello,” Cas greets.

 

“You came back,” Sammy, grins, sticking his tongue through his hole of his missing tooth.

 

“I did,” Cas addresses, patting the kids head fondly, “And I see you lost that wiggly tooth.”

 

Sam nods proudly, “I wiggled it and wiggled it until my tongue got sore. Then, it fell out.”

 

And Cas finally turned to Dean, a gummy smile gracing his lips. Dean admits, to himself, he has a crush. It’s the way he speaks to Sammy, the way he’s always been so understanding, his general attractiveness. They all feed into the inevitable.

 

It’s embarrassing to think about, an angel being the center of his affections. But it’s prevailed longer than any other passing infatuation, the fluttering in his stomach just confirms it. It’s been three weeks since he last saw Castiel, and he doesn’t want to acknowledge it, but the hiatus between visits feels like he’s pushing on a bruise.

 

Dean realizes he’s been quiet for a couple seconds too long, making Castiel raise his eyebrows.

 

He stops himself before he can explain, _I’m not upset at you, just at the fact that you leave for so long._ Sammy grabs Castiel’s hand and drags him over to the t.v. talking about some kid show that makes no sense to Dean and probably doesn’t interest Castiel.

 

When Sammy finally nods off, only able to stay up for ten more minutes, Castiel picks him up and tucks him into bed. He turns off the light in the apartment’s room, takes Dean’s hand and pulls him outside. The air is colder than usual November, making Dean curl into himself more.

 

“Are you going to explain your distress?”

 

The question sounds extremely loud in the outside world, not confined to the room’s walls. Dean, unsure of what to say, shrugs. Apparently, it’s not enough to satisfy Cas, who frowns hard. He blurts out the first excuse. “I guess I’m tired. Dad’s teaching me to start hunting with him soon and I’m nervous,”

 

“He’s started training you,” Castiel repeats, worried.  “How old are you?”

 

Dean stood up straighter, “Ten and a half.”

 

Castiel lets out an uneven huff, closing his eyes, “Why so young?”

 

“I’m not a kid,” Dean says defensively, trying not to become aggravated. “I helped with a ghost last week. Threw a bunch of salt at the thing and gave Dad enough time to burn its bones. He’s really proud of me.”

 

“I’m sure he is,” Castiel says, looking at him with warmhearted eyes. “You’re very fearless, Dean. You have a gentle soul. So bright and stunning. Most are like candles, but yours is a bonfire. I’m just worried that it will be stomped out too soon by reckless parenting.”

 

Dean feels oddly offended, which never happens with Castiel, “My dad’s trying his best.”

 

“Of course, Dean.” He has a feeling Cas is just saying that to calm him down, “I’ve purely never been a huge fan of John.”

 

“He’s so cool, Cas.” Dean suddenly feels the need to make Cas like his Dad. “He’s a superhero.”

 

Castiel gestures back to the motel, “Let’s go back inside. I feel like I’m about to leave.”

 

“Sure,” Dean agrees easily, because Cas suggested it, “I need to watch Sammy, anyway.”

 

When they step back inside, the air is too cold like all the heat was sucked out by a vacuum. He sees a strange light coming from Sammy’s room, looks over to Cas but is suddenly scared when the angel starts to disappear. Castiel looks terrified, reaches out for Dean but is gone before he can.

 

He moves closer to the bedroom and sees a monster leaning over Sam’s bed; it’s suddenly like he’s frozen. Mustering up all the courage he can, he reaches for the rifle by the door but the creature hears him cock it and rears up, hissing.

 

“Get out of the way!” His Dad bursts through the front door, gun raised. Seeing Dean hesitate. He ducks and his Dad shoots the monster multiple times with his handgun. The thing jumps through the bedroom window, glass shattering.

 

Dad rushes to Sam’s bed and pulls him close, cradling him. “Sammy. Sammy. Sammy. You ok?”

 

Sam wakes up, confused and sleepy. “Yeah Dad, what's going on?”

 

“You’re all right?” Dad makes sure Sam nods before turning to glower at Dean. “What happened?”

 

“I— I— I just went out.” He stutters, awkwardly. How else could he explain without mentioning Castiel?

 

“What!?”

 

“Just for a second. I'm sorry,” Dean feels the tears well up in his eyes.

 

John glares daggers at him, hot fiery anger. “I told you not to leave this room. I told you not to let him out of your sight!”

 

He can’t think of anything to say. His dad hadn’t yelled at him like this in a long time, but this felt different. It wasn’t simple anger, but outright disappointment. Dean couldn’t help the small part of his brain, the prickle in the back, that blamed Castiel for this.

 

“You went to that arcade, didn’t you?” John asks, not bothering to wait for Dean’s response, “Go pack your things. I’m dropping you boys off at Pastor Jim’s. I can’t look at you right now. First your mother, now Sam. How could I lose them both?”

 

Dean swallows spit, tears running freely. He wished Castiel would never come back.

 

 

**May 2017**

_Dean is 38_

 

When they appear in front of the small cottage, Dean almost smiles. It’s quaint and peaceful looking, the exact opposite of what he was expecting. As he makes his first step, Cas grabs his hand. It sends goosebumps up his arm. Cas whispers, “Sam and Crowley need to stand watch. Dean, Mary, and I will investigate the house.”

 

“Roger that,” Mary responds, cocking her gun.

 

The three of them walk up to the porch, Cas makes a shushing motion and he presses his ear against the door. After a few seconds, he nods in approval and turns the knob. What lies on the other side flips his stomach; It’s Castiel, who blinks a couple hundred times.

 

“Dean?” His voice echoes around the room.

 

It’s like time has frozen. Dean never expected this, Cas and Castiel coming face to face. It makes his dick twitch involuntarily, and he has to twist awkwardly to hide the evidence. He tries to shut out the fantasy, the extremely interesting idea of two Castiel’s. From the look Mary shoots him, he’s not as successful in concealing his thoughts as he wished.

 

She breaks the moment. “Is this place warded?”

 

“Yes,” Castiel says defensively. “Heavily.”

 

Cas has this superior, all-knowing look, on his face. “Heavy enough to stop Lucifer?”

 

“Lucifer?” Castiel says, shocked. “I can’t… I don’t… What?”

 

“He could be right behind us.” Mary concedes, crossing her arms. It reminds Dean of when he’d do something stupid as a child, draw on the wall with crayon for example, and she’d get the same look about her. “We need to move Kelly somewhere else, while we still have time.”

 

“We can’t,” Castiel says, right as a guttural scream comes from upstairs to solidify his words. “She’s already in labor. It would be impossible to even try.”

 

Cas sighs, biting his lip and looking at the ceiling, “Sadly, he’s right. We need to stay here.”

 

“I’ll go check on Kelly.” Mary rushes up the stairs, leaving behind Dean between a Castiel sandwich.

 

Dean looks after her, “How much time do we have?”

 

“Less than an hour.” Cas steps closer to him. “At least, that’s what I remember. It could fluctuate.”

 

“If he shows,” Dean begins, gesturing between the two of them. “Could one of you flame on again? Can you torch Lucifer like you torched Dagon?”

 

Before Castiel even opened his mouth, Dean knew the answer. “That wasn’t me, it was the child and in case you haven’t noticed he’s predisposed at the moment. All I can do is angelic parlor tricks.”

 

“Well, why don’t you use those tricks to heal Dean?” Cas butts in, pointing at Dean’s bum knee. It’s amazing the angel even noticed because Dean had been using most of his energy to conceal the wound, which means Cas must have remembered from last time.

 

And like usual, Dean swoons over Castiel, because that’s how it’s always been. How it will always be.

 

Cas heals his leg.

 

“So who's he?” Castiel asks suddenly, gesturing at his future self in aggravation and uncertainty.

 

Dean can feel the older Cas staring at him, it’s full of passion and heat, and that’s blurring all of the lines he’s outlined to separate his best friend from his lover, that’s making the lines nearly fictitious. Clearing his throat, Dean tries to imagine a scenario where this didn’t feel like the monkey in the middle.

 

“He’s, uh, you. This is you from the future, Cas.” Dean stumbles all over his words.

 

Castiel doesn’t look convinced, instead, he looks more concerned. “Dean— Are you sure? How? This makes no logical sense. I can’t believe you brought this here when he could sabotage the entire mission. You just said Lucifer was walking the earth, again, and you expect me to believe this?”

 

“Calm down, tight-ass. You and Kelly just taking off was a foolish idea, and if you want Lucifer to stay away from the kid, you’ll listen to me.” Cas rolls his eyes at his younger counterpart, slowly wrapping his arm around Dean's shoulders in a suggestive way. It’s enough to make Castiel’s eyes squint, and older Cas simply smirks. “Now, we should show Dean the situation behind the house.”

 

“Why are you being so hard on yourself?” Dean says softly to the older Cas as they go around the back, gaining Sam and Crowley back in the entourage. “You’re the same person. The only difference is that you have more experiences than him.”

 

“I’ve hated him for a while,” Cas reveals, shrugging like it’s only natural to hate yourself. And Dean kind of understands it. “He’s a cowardly, sniveling, repulsive version of myself. It might not be rational, but I’m myself because of what I’ve undergone. And that means we aren't the same person.”

 

“Castiel is not a coward.” Dean argues, “He risks his life all the time.”

 

“That’s not because he’s brave, that’s because he’s afraid,” Cas mutters, ending the conversation.

 

It’s then that Dean sees the situation that both Cas’s felt the need to show him. The yellow lightning bolt is terrifying, Dean stares at it in wonder. “What the fuck is that?”

 

“It’s a tear in space and time.” Both Castiel’s say at the same time, creepy like the twins in the shining

 

“Uh, and that means?” Sam pipes up, staring at the thing with the same wonder-filled expression as Dean. Crowley is fidgeting behind them, becoming the personal embodiment of a rat, like he’s afraid if he get’s too close to it he’ll get sucked into it.

 

“It’s a doorway to another world.” Castiel walks closer to it, the exact opposite of Crowley.

 

“Like Narnia?” Dean quips, getting a chuckle from Cas and a confused glance from Castiel.

 

“I don't see what a children's book has to do with this situation, but through this portal is another earth eerily similar to ours, but different in all the ways that matter. It’s like an alternate reality. Like when you were transported to the world where you were actors or businessmen at a company for Zachariah.” Castiel explains, he’s almost touching it now.

 

“So it’s a bizarro world.” Sam rationalizes, nodding to himself. “How did it get here?”

 

“With the child being born—” Castiel pauses, tilting his head like he’s just putting things into perspective. “—His power seems to be puncturing the fabric of our universe. This means his powers could be beyond those of God and the Darkness. And right now they are lucidly just manufacturing.”

 

“Awesome.” Dean spits out. “What exactly is on the other side?”

 

“You don’t want to know,” Castiel warns.

 

“Probably.” Sam says, “But we need to.”

 

Older Cas puts his lips up to Dean’s ear, sending puffs of hot breath and moisture onto the side of his face. It’s so erotic that Dean has to suck in a quick breath or else he’d cum in his britches. “He won’t tell you. Let’s go find out, my love.”

.

 Dean jabs him in the side, whispering back harshly, "Stop teasing me, Cas. We haven't touched in months and I'm not strong enough to resist."

 

"It might've been months for you, but I just made out with you before I was sent here. You were so adorable and young." Cas says back, not bothering to keep his voice down.

 

Castiel stops short, turning to them with fire in his eyes, "Are you two serious?"

 

"Jealous?" Cas smirks, then bravely steps right into the portal but not before saying, "Time to face the music."

 

 

**August 1991**

_Dean is 12_

 

Sam clutched the towel tight to his chest, looking down at the swimming pool in frustration. When Dad had mentioned that the motel they were staying at had a pool, he had gotten his hopes up. Looking down at the green water made tears spring to his eyes. Before they could fall, Dean bumps his shoulder with his elbow.

 

“You don’t know how to swim anyway,” Dean ruffled Sam’s hair, pulled his shirt back on and began to walk back to their room. Sam turns to follow, not wanting to be on his own. “Besides, I’m sure we can find cartoons on the television.”

 

They start walking up the stairs, Sam pulling off his goggles. “It’s mom’s birthday today.”

 

“I know, Sammy,” Dean says, not bothering to look at him.

 

“How old would she be?”

 

“You’re a brat, did you know that?” Dean exhales, but answers anyway, “Thirty-six.”

 

“Oh,” Sam says softly, “How did mom die?”

 

Dean jolts his head round in irritation, stopping in front of their door. He fiddles around with the keys for a couple seconds, “You know you’re not supposed to ask about that. I’d be skinned alive if Dad knew you were asking those types of questions. Dad said—“

 

Sam puffs up his chest, “I’m old enough to know.”

 

“She was in a car crash,” Dean finally says, fingers twitching. “Died on impact and felt no pain.”

 

“Who hit her?” Sam wonders as they walk into the motel room.

 

The air conditioner sends a gust of chilly air right into Sam’s face; the room is about ten degrees cooler than outside. There was only one bed in the middle of the room, covered in a pattern he was only able to describe as floral vomit, because their Dad was on a job.

 

Dean shrugs, goes to lay on the shared bed, “Nobody knows. Not even Dad.”

 

“I wish I knew,” Sam looks down.

 

“Me too,” Dean reassures.

 

Sam went to sit on the bed, “Was it my fault she died?”

 

“What?” Dean practically yelled, sitting up fast. He looks at his little brother, takes in the red eyes and baggy swim trunks. He swears, jumps up to his feet to start pacing. “Where could you get a messed up idea like that?”

 

“I overheard Dad talking to Uncle Bobby about it,” Sam says imperturbably. “What did I do wrong?”

 

“You didn’t do jack shit wrong,” Dean says, coming to stand in front of him, “You make me a promise okay?”

 

“What?” Sam asks, intrigued.

 

“You don’t ask about mom again.” Dean points his finger, face serious, “Don’t even mention her around Dad. When the old bastard finally asks if you want to know about her, you shake your head no. You scream no from the rooftops. Do you understand? No matter what, say no. I’m already in this, but you don’t need to.”

 

Sam considers, “Okay. Will you promise to teach me how to swim?”

 

“I’ll teach you to swim,” Dean comforts, grabbing Sam into a hug. “Just not in that shitty pool.”

 

Dean finally calms down enough to turn on the TV and watch, Sam picks some stupid recycling show and Dean stops paying attention before the theme song is even over. He looks over at the table, eyes widening at the sight. John’s notebook, leather bound and out in the open, sitting like a Christmas present on the counter.

 

He considers going over to it, reading its contents and understanding.

 

Standing up casually, and trying not to alert Sammy of what he was about to do. John had very specific rules, including the one that has stuck with Dean ever since he accidentally drew pictures in his Dad’s journal without realizing how significant it was. Never touch the book.

 

He runs his hands across the leather, feeling the rough texture beneath his fingers. He was actually about to do this. He glances over his shoulder; sees Sammy still engrossed in his hippy cartoon and undoes the binding. He sucks in a breath, opening the cover.

 

The first page is hectic, has pen scribbles all over it and half-finished thoughts. Dean tries not to become startled at the more graphic ones, like all the gory ways to torture demons. He shivers and flips the pages, sees a short entry and begins to read.

 

“Sammy cries a lot, wanting his Mom. I don’t know how to stop it, and part of me doesn’t want to. It breaks my heart to think that soon he won’t remember her at all. I can’t let her memory die. Whatever is out there in the night—”

 

Castiel materializes in front of him before he can read more. He snaps it shut.

 

“Hiya, Cas,” Dean says, looking at the angel in disbelief. “You’ve been gone three weeks.”

 

“Well,” Castiel beams. “That’s pretty good, considering.”

 

Sam laughs, running over to him, “I missed you, Cas.”

 

They hug for a couple second, Castiel finally breaking away to embrace Dean.

 

He pulls Dean into him and they melt into each other’s bodies. Dean closes his eyes, takes a deep breath in and smiles. It times like this that his crush resurfaces. He squeezes Castiel’s body closer to his, pulse racing and face flushed. There’s a moment of warmth and closeness, Dean has never felt so happy. It’s pathetic.

 

“How are you, Dean?” They break apart. His voice is gentle, like he knows exactly what Dean’s thinking.

 

Clearing his throat, “Fine. School’s about to start again, so I’m not excited about that.”

 

“I am,” Sammy informs, “I love school.”

 

“Yeah, because you’re a giant nerd,” Dean jokes. Feeling better after the familiar teasing. “I don’t even know why Dad makes me go to school since I’ll be following the family business and all. I’ll probably end up dropping out.”

 

Sammy pipes up, “He leaves us here so you can go to school. He wants you to get educated.”

 

“That’s what he wants you to think. Dad leaves us because we’ll get in the way.” Dean complained, peeved that he was still considered so useless to their Dad. The old bastard had been training him for two years and had only brought him on five hunts.

 

Castiel shakes his head, “Education is important, Dean.”

 

Dean precipitously bristles. “I’ll be sure to let you know when Shakespeare helps me save someone.”

 

“I can’t make you graduate,” Cas allows, and then adds, “But high school is only four years. That’s barely even three percent of your life, Dean. At least try to get your diploma. That’s all I’m asking.”

 

Not able to say no to Cas, Dean grudgingly agrees, “Fine. But as soon as Dad needs me to, I’m dropping out.”

 

Sam cheers by dancing and wiggling around with a toothy grin and Dean can’t help the fond look he gives his little brother. Sammy was such a nerd, which is actually why they were going to be staying at this new school for a couple months. The little brat had begged their Dad until he dropped them off and registered them.

The nerd did not know what their Dad did, only knew he saved people and moved them constantly. But he knew they were expected to fall into their Dad’s shadow. Dean secretly wishes Sam wouldn’t get lost in this life, the guns, and killing.

Castiel stays with them that night, cuddles on the sofa and makes commentary on the absurdness of the show. “It’s called Global warming for a reason.” Dean tunes out the words, just keeps his head on Castiel’s chest and doses off to the vibrations.

 

For the first time in a while, he feels completely content.

 

**September 2008**

_Dean is 29_

 

“Pam’s stable,” Sam says, taking a bite out of rare steak, blood dripping down his chin. “Out of ICU, also.”

 

“And blind,” Dean laments. “Because of us.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Dean feels rash saying this, because Sam doesn’t realize that the Cas they grew up with is Castiel, but there’s no other way.  “We could try and summon him. I mean, we’ve got a name. With the right stuff, we can bring him right to us. Maybe work him over.”

 

“You’re crazy, absolutely not.” Sam points out that Pamela got one peek at him and her eyes burned out of her skull as a result; a face-to-face with Castiel is a very bad idea. And Sammy has a point, from his narrow perspective.

 

Almost as if the universe knows he’s thinking about his angel, he’s there.

 

He sees Castiel appear behind Sam’s head; gradually appear like he always does. Dean jolts up, watching Sam’s face crumple into muddled uncertainty. He waves off his brother’s confusion, and practically dashes to the bathroom. Sensing Castiel follow him.

 

He’s barely in the first stall when Cas wraps his arms around Dean’s middle. Dean let’s out a sniffle he didn’t know he was holding back, letting himself soften completely into Castiel’s touch. This is the first time they’ve been reunited since Hell. Dean lets his head fall into Castiel’s neck.

 

“Hello, my love,” Castiel murmurs, nosing along Dean’s cheek.

 

It unexpectedly feels like he’s taking a hot shower. Castiel’s presence is like scorching water cascading down his spine, sending tingles to his brain. It is so dreamlike that he closes his eyes and fantasizes they're anywhere other than a shitty bathroom in a shitty diner in shitty Pontiac, Illinois.

 

Dean turns around in Castiel’s arms, looking straight into his angel’s eyes. “I’ve missed you.”

 

“No more than I have you.” Castiel discloses, pressing their foreheads together.

 

They share a tender kiss, reawakening an itch in Dean’s stomach. He smiles into Castiel’s lips, enjoying the way they caressed each other’s. The simple press of Castiel’s warm mouth makes his heart stutter in its cage.

 

They break away, Dean’s filter on autopilot. “Yeah, but for you it’s like no time passes. We’re always together to you. It’s not fair.”

 

“It’s a curse for me,” Castiel retells. “Because no matter which you I’m with, I’m always missing you.”

 

“Which me are you missing now?” Dean asks, then rephrases. “Like, where did you just come from?”

 

Castiel smiles, bringing his palm to Dean’s cheek for a slow stroke, “I witnessed you being born.”

 

“Come again?” Dean scrunches his nose, that’s hard to imagine. The thought of Castiel watching his Mom give birth to him wasn’t in his realm of easily understandable situations. He heaves all his mind's limitations out the door, trying to picture it.

 

“Your mother let me name you,” Castiel states like it’s a secret. “It was such an honor.”

 

“Who did she think you were?” Dean asks, knowing Castiel never revealed his identity.

 

“I was a pastor from the hospital’s clergy,” Castiel grins, proud at the alias. “It was a wonderful disguise because it shooed your Father from the room and allowed your Mother to trust me enough to advise her. She was very adamant that you were a special child. I could only agree.”

 

Dean drew Castiel back in, to hold close, “Anything else she said? I don’t really remember her that well.”

 

“From this specific visit?” Castiel racks his mind. “Just that all the previous names they had were too stuffy to fit someone as perfect as you.”

 

“Thanks, Cas,” Dean whispers. Face blistering as he stores away the new information.

 

Nodding, Castiel tightens his arms, “She seemed happy. I only wish she could’ve seen you grow up.”

 

Exhaling, “Me too.”

 

They stay laced together, not bothering to pull apart.

 

“You’re going to be meeting me soon.” Castiel breaks the moment, ruining the tête-à-tête.

 

Picking at his cuticle, Dean breaks his fidgeting. “I know. I’m pretty sure past you burnt Pam’s eye’s out.”

 

“I did,” Castiel confirms, sadly. “She didn’t listen to my warnings. Most humans can’t perceive my true form.”

 

“True form?” The words sound proper, formal. “You mean angels don’t look like tax accountants?”

 

Castiel laughs, flattening his hand down Dean’s spine. “Not exactly.”

 

Dean ignores all the questions now burning in his mind, decides to focus on asking his traditional line of the questionnaire. “What, uh, tipped you off? I mean, how did figure out the date?”

 

“I can smell the brimstone on you.”

 

Dean cleared his throat. The words are enough to make him a little irate because it confirms his inclinations. “So you knew Sam wasn’t going to be able to save me? Why did you let us think there was a way out? That whole year was pointless.”

 

“There’s always hope, Dean,” Castiel speaks calmly. “And you needed it then.”

 

“But you couldn’t have even hinted that it was all for nothing?” Dean asks, aggravated.

 

“As I’ve said before—”Castiel looks him in the eye. Sternly, “ —that would change time beyond repair.”

 

Huffing, Dean feels too wound up. And they were having such a nice reunion. “Whatever, Doctor Who. I should head back to Sam. You know how he worries.”

 

Before Dean can walk away, Castiel grabs his arm and yanks him back. Dean practically collapses into Castiel chest. His face is firm, almost calculating. Dean opens his mouth to protest, says he doesn’t feel like talking anymore, when Castiel locks their lips together.

 

It was so intense, more zealous than their other seemingly innocent kisses. This was overwhelming. They’d never shared a kiss this hot. They had never actually made out before even, he thinks feverously. Dean gasps when he feels the unmistakable press Castiel’s tongue at the seam of his lips.

 

He gladly recuperates, letting their tongues tangle together as he falls deeper into his stupor.

 

Dean wraps his arms around Castiel’s neck, trying to drag himself closer to the undeniable hotness of the angel’s mouth. He curses himself, wasn’t he mad at Castiel just a few seconds ago? Priorities. None of that mattered now, only the feeling of thorough comprehensiveness.

 

No wonder Castiel was an angel, this was heaven.

 

“Time for you to head back,” Were Castiel’s first words after the kiss, hoarse and low.

 

Dean just lays his head against Castiel’s shoulder, trying to catch his breath. “I don’t want to.”

 

“You need to,” Castiel says. “I’m about to disappear.”

 

“When will I see you again?” knowing it is a moot point. Castiel never knows.

 

Instead of the usual sympathetic face, Castiel smiles from ear to ear. Lips raw from kissing. “You’ll see me tonight.”

 

Later when Dean and Bobby are on the road after a nasty attack from a ceiling mirror, Sam calls and asks Dean what they are doing. He lies and tells him that they were just going out to have some beers. He can’t be for certain, but the kid is acting a little suspicious himself.

 

“Why the hell didn’t you tell him?”

 

Bobby has this disappointed voice, the one he always used back when Dean was younger and John pawned them off on him to speed away on a difficult hunt. Like that time he poured a vat of preserved ectoplasm onto baby Sammy’s head and proceeded to stick the vertebrae of babies into the curing goop.

 

“Because he doesn’t want us to summon this thing.” He suspects Bobby wasn’t relishing this diminutive chitchat.

 

“I don’t want us to summon this thing either, boy! We ain’t got any idea what this thing is. It could be a demon, it could be some witch, and it could be anything!”

 

Bobby was right of course, there was always a small chance that the summoning ritual they use is going to call upon an abysmal demon. He drives those thoughts away, because it’s merely a minor gamble. Castiel told him they were going to meet tonight, and he trusts the angel more than he trusts anyone.

 

“I’ve got the magic knife; you’ve got the arsenal in the trunk—”

 

“Dean, we could use Sam on this.” Bobby expresses dolefully, he already knows he’s lost the argument.

 

“He's better off where he is.”

 

Without an inch of regret, exclusively on Dean’s part, they drive to Bobby’s isolated barn.

 

This was about to happen, he could feel it. After years of waiting to meet Castiel, the present-day Castiel, it was finally going to happen. He was a little panicky, remembering what happened to Pamela. They warded the walls from every demon known, and then summoned.

 

Thirty seconds passed, Dean started to grow inpatient. “You sure you did the ritual right?”

 

Bobby rolled his eyes, opening his mouth to retort, when suddenly the roof started banging and the whole barn quivered and Dean tried to joke. “Wishful thinking but maybe it’s just the wind.” Then the light bulbs began smashing, pouring glass onto them.

 

The doors bang open, making more glass shatter and rain on them. It was more than before, almost like a flood. They had to cover their faces. When they dared to peek back up, there was a man standing in the door. He casted a dark shadow that enveloped them.

 

Was this Castiel? Before he could contemplate, Bobby started pumping his gun and shooting rounds into the figure. Dean calmed himself and loaded his magazine, letting his shells hit the ground as his bullets lodged into the man’s chest. The figure started to walk to them, as if he wasn’t being fired at by two men.

 

The bullets were clearly useless, so Dean picked up Ruby’s knife. “Who are you?”

 

“I’m the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition.”

 

A heavy set brow, sharp jaw, and high cheekbones.  Dark hair a stark difference to his pale complexion, skin like milk and lace and cumulus clouds. Dean looks at his eyes, sucking in a deep breath. They’re a bright, entrancing, and sharp blue. A blue so vivid and pure, Dean can see his reflection in them.

 

It was Castiel. It was Castiel and Dean had never felt so relieved.

 

He couldn’t let on like he knew, couldn’t ruin the future. So, instead of pulling the angel into the long awaited hug, he does what he’s been preparing himself to do for years, he situates a sneer on his lips and shoves the blade into Castiel’s peck. He had aimed for the heart. “Yeah. Thanks’ for that.”

 

Castiel doesn’t even blink, pulls the knife out and drops it to the floor. “Your welcome.”

 

Dean sucks in a sharp breath, eyes widening as Castiel takes another step toward him.

 

As soon as they are about to touch, Bobby uses the distraction to swings a pipe directly at Castiel head. Dean watches in astonishment as Castiel screws his body to meet him, as fast as thunder and lightning, pressing two fingers to Bobby’s forehead and crumbling him to the floor.

 

“We need to talk, Dean.” Castiel says, brows furrowed and head tilted to the side. “Alone.”

 

Dean looks at Bobby and almost pukes. He thinks back to Pamela, the way Castiel burned her eyes out. If he’s killed Bobby, Dean doesn’t know if he can forgive him. He crouches next to the old man and checks his pulse. He sighs in relief at the steady heartbeat.

 

“Your friend’s alive.”

 

“Who are you?” Dean repeats, because he can’t be too careful.

 

“Castiel,” He says. The _you idiot_ goes unsaid. Castiel goes over to their table of weapons; he picks up a book and skims through it. “I’m an Angel of the Lord.”

 

Snorting, Dean stands up from his squat and moves closer to Castiel. “Get the hell out of here. There’s no such thing.”

 

“This is your problem, Dean. You have no faith.”

 

The sky illuminations in a thunderous clap of lightning, shining a harsh well-lit glare over Castiel. It flashes for seconds, drawing Dean’s attention to the humongous shadows behind Castiel’s back. They flex out like biceps, flapping and spreading in a way that makes them look monstrous. He takes a step back because this is too much.

 

"Right," Dean tried not to sound intimidated. He’d never seen Castiel’s wings before, and the simple outline of them had made his heart leap. "And why would an angel rescue me from hell?"

 

"Because God commanded it," Castiel carefully articulated every word. "Because we have work for you."

 

Dean almost passes out. _He hadn’t signed up for fucking God._


	5. Double the Trouble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> strong homophobia in this chapter from some of Dean's high school peers

**November 1996**

_Dean is 17_

 

“What a fag, amirite?”

 

“Yeah, thank Jesus homo’s go to Hell.”

 

“Fuckin’ queer’ burn like they deserve.”

 

Dad had a hunt, two week’s top’s he’d mentioned offhandedly, that was apparently leading up to finding the thing that killed their Mom. He didn’t bring up what it was to Dean specifically, but the conversation he’d had with another hunter made Dean curious enough to research.

 

The one word he’d heard was Daeva, and that alone didn’t sound too promising. He’d shivered as he’s read some lore from Bobby’s collection, they’re anthropomorphic shadows. He realizes as soon as he reads their description why John withheld the details, he can’t seem to erase the notion of his Mom being butchered by one of these things from his mind.

 

He’d had a terrible nightmare about it before John had dropped them off at Truman High, it was a void of darkness eating at his soul. When he woke up, in a cold sweat, trashing around his bed like a lunatic, it was time to get ready for school already. They were staying in a hotel, so he’d taken a freezing shower and towel dried his sopping hair.

 

It was enough to throw him off all morning, meaning when John drives up to the front of the school, he’s too spaced out to say goodbye. Sam and Dean had already started to walk up to the school before he’d snapped out of his torpor.

 

“Got your lunch? Books? Butterfly knife?”

 

Sam, tepidly, heaves a sigh. “Yeah, Dean.”

 

“You okay?” Because he was always looking out for Sammy.

 

“I mean, look, this is the third school we've been to this year, and it's only November. I'm just sick of always being the new kid.” Sam rants, fists clenching as he thinks about the utterly unjustifiable nature of it all. Maybe it’s because he’s fourteen and his life is over no matter what, but the life they live feels unfair.

 

Dean ruffles the kid's hair, making it all static-y. “You'll be fine. If anyone gives you any trouble, you let me know. Relax. Dad said this hunt will take him two weeks, tops. As soon as he gets back, we're out of here.”

 

“To another school. Awesome.”

 

He comes back to the present, keeping his head bowed as he walks past the group of guys. Thankfully that aren’t talking to him, but the straightforward homophobia makes him recoil in fear. His arm tightens around Amanda; he tries to focus on the smell of her hair, the plumpness of her lips, or anything that would distract him.

 

It’s right before lunch, which means third period and biology.

 

Dean won’t deny that their science teacher, Mr. Freddie Mercury, is hot. The guy has serious muscle definition and look’s like he just stepped out of those gay pornos rags Dean keeps stashed under his mattress as Uncle Bobby’s. He tries to set that train of thought on the backburner, but he’s seventeen and hormones are a bitch.

 

When Amanda sends him curious glances, he know’s he’s been staring at Mr. James Dean’s ass for far too long. He quickly refocuses his efforts onto the baby piglet they’re dissecting. What a great day to be transferred into this class, he thinks ironically.

 

At least they aren’t talking about genetics, the last school they’d been at had scarred “the mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell” into his memory. Seniors get to leave five minutes early, meaning Amanda has to stay behind because she’s a junior. Dean almost laughs, but instead salutes to Mr. Marlon Brando and strolls out the door.

 

It had been four months since he’d last seen Castiel, figured out his crush was going nowhere, and his thoughts were turning to the worst.

 

Obviously, something happened, this has been the longest that Castiel had been gone for. Almost half a fucking year. He tries not to think about it, but whatever Dean does Castiel will always be in the back of his mind. In fact, everything he does reminds him of Cas. It seems he can’t escape the literal love of his life.

 

Thinking back to all those time’s he’d complained about Castiel being gone for a month seem so petty now, it’s almost equivalent to a four-year-old forgetting the whereabouts of their parent in the middle of a crowded supermarket. He’s feeble and impotent, like that child.

 

Cringing as he thinks back to their last conversation, Dean can't believe that Castiel has someone waiting for him back in the future. It makes him feel squeamish, upset and devastated. There's some handsome and stabby hunter that Castiel is spending his time with and it's ruining all of Dean's thoughts.

 

He tries to keep himself busy with things but every time he pauses, he still thinks of Castiel.

 

That’s how he justifies making out with Amanda in the janitor's closet, she’s a thing he’s keeping himself busy with. Besides, Castiel would reject him on the spot. He reddens at the thought, never expecting an actual angel to recuperate puppy love.

 

Getting Castiel jealous is worth trying for, anyway, and Dean is kind of lonely. So he flirts with pretty much anyone he comes across, he kisses all the pretty girls, lets them run their fingers through his hair and stick their too small hands down his pants, hoping Castiel will appear and see, will want to replace their bodies against Dean with his own.

 

It’s just nice to be looked at like that, it’s nice to be wanted. Even if it’s not by Castiel.

 

“So tonight I'm thinking you, me, a bucket of popcorn, extra butter—”

 

“Mm, kinky.”

 

“—and the midnight screening of _I Spit on Your Grave_ at the Cinedome.”

 

Amanda pulls away, looking genuinely sad about it. “I can't. I have a curfew at eleven o’ clock.”

 

“So?”

 

“So if I break it, my folks will ground me for a month.” She clarifies, crossing her arms.

 

“Yeah, parents. Terrifying.” Dean mumbles sarcastically, lips pressed to her throat.

 

“Mm-hmm,” She allows him to kiss her neck, but then asks, “Well, when's your curfew?”

 

He snorts, “I don't have one.”

 

Amanda raises her eyebrows at that. She look’s properly scandalized. Dean tries to imagine John giving them time regulations and still making them help with hunts at the same time. Their Dad wouldn’t do that. He’s not exactly the model guardian. “Your parents just let you stay out all night?”

 

“My Dad's out of town on a job. It's just me and my brother.” He doesn’t refer to his Mom, she doesn’t either.

 

“For how long?”

 

“Couple of weeks.”

 

Honestly what he’s explaining doesn’t sound like a horrible situation. She’s acting like he’s in an abusive home. Of course, it’s sucky that their Dad has to leave them so often, but a lot of parents leave their children alone to go on business trips. Hell, he’s positive that at least five other people that go to this school have a parent that does their work internationally.

 

“Seriously?” Her voice is high pitched, affronted.

 

“Yeah.” He can already feel himself being pitied. Great. “We got a pretty sweet setup at The Pines.”

 

“You’re staying at the motel?”

 

“Mm-hmm.” Yeah, she’s really sympathetic looking now. Like she’s figured him out to a T. _We interrupt your program for a childhood trauma alert and Amanda’s the reporter on the scene._ Dean shrugs it off and continues. “HBO, magic fingers, free ice— it's great.”

 

“Yeah, I guess.” She’s practically as far away from Dean as possible. No more making out, then. He sighs.

 

“What? I do whatever I want, whenever I want. It's perfect.” He feels obligatorily offended, like when Cas makes a cheap shot at their Dad. He feels the urge to defend his Dad, the way he was brought up, and the way they’re currently living.

 

“Yeah, but—” She pauses like she might be reconsidering her next words. “—don't you miss your Dad?”

 

His jaw clenches as his brain begins to loop her question in his mind.  Amanda look’s immensely apologetic, like she realizes she’d crossed an invisible line. He can’t be mad at her though, she didn’t know his boundaries. She’s unaware of his buttons. So, with the last drops of his patience, he calms himself down and withdraws.

 

He stumbles out of the closet, the joke isn't lost on him, eyes adjusting to the fluorescent halls and general brightness of the outside world. He see’s Sammy, walking with some nerdy looking dweeb and waves. Sam dips his head and walks faster. The dweeb with Sam looks at Dean with some type of hero worship, he waves heartedly at Dean until they both disappeared around the corner.

 

Amanda practically pounces on his back, hangs off him like a beware of dog sign, as they go to class. He tugs on his amulet, wishing John would finish the hunt so they could leave this school quickly.

 

He walks back to their motel room, Sammy was staying after school to work on a project. Which was so Sam considering it was their first day.

 

Dean tries to talk to him about it, but the nerd isn't having this conversation. Apparently, he’d let some punk beat him for some self-righteous reason, it made Dean’s blood boil. They’d been taught to fight back, but Sammy was apparently too good for that.

 

The motel opens as Dean shoves his keys into the lock, he turns the knob and startles when he sees Castiel laying on the bed. It’s like all his anger washes away, or at least becomes muted because Castiel is actually here.

 

And he’s playing Bette Davis Eyes, on the record player.

 

 

_Her hair is Harlow gold, her lips sweet surprise_

_Her hands are never cold, she's got Bette Davis eyes_

 

 

It’s a scene out of Dean’s wet dreams, he looks on with curiosity as he realizes Castiel’s shirt is unbuttoned and tie forgotten on the floor. He’s flushed like he was doing something interesting, and his hair is even more sexed up than usual.

 

 

_She'll turn the music on you, you won't have to think twice_

_She's pure as New York snow, she got Bette Davis eyes_

 

 

It feels like all the air is being sucked out of Dean’s chest, like this isn’t even real. He pinches his arm, staring heatedly at Castiel’s dripping and sweaty skin. When Castiel finally notices he’s there, his mouth twists into a wry smile. He throws his head back, music washing over him like a drug.

 

 

_And she'll tease you, she'll unease you_

_All the better just to please you_

 

 

He slips off the bed, chest exposed and feverish, as he walks over to rip off the needle. The music screeches to a halt, making everything unbearably quiet. Castiel, who seems entirely too human, saunters over to him and yanks him into a hug.

 

“Are you twenty yet?” His voice is rich, gravelly and intense, with a subtle sexy slur.

 

Dean practically squeaks, “I, uh, missed you too, Cas.”

 

Castiel grabs his face, does a quick examination, then shakes his head. “No. You can’t be older than sixteen.”

 

“Seventeen.” He corrects, pulling his face away. “Your weird Vulcan mind meld isn’t working.”

 

“Why always Spock? I want to be Kirk, sometimes.” Castiel pouts, lips pushed out dangerously low.

 

Dean looks at it, then catches a whiff of alcohol. “Are you drunk?”

 

“Yep. No thank’s to future you, by the way. It was all, keep drinking Cas and—” Castiel hiccups loudly, “—you’ve only had ten shots! What happened to your tolerances. And I said something along the lines of, fuck off Dean because I’m mostly human now. Thankfully, Sam came to my rescue and took away the vodka.”

 

Barely able to stop smiling at the adorableness, Dean asks. “How far in my future is this? Soon, I hope.”

 

“If you’re seventeen, that means it’s still years away,” Castiel informs, then makes a zipping motion on his lips and lock the edge. “I can’t give you your exact age because you can’t know that you’ll still be living at twenty-nine. Spoilers and excrements.”

 

Laughing, Dean presses himself closer into Castiel’s space. “I’ll be out of school by then.”

 

“If you’re still in school, where’s Sammy? I thought you looked after your brother.” Castiel sounds vaguely disappointed, Dean huffs aggravated. Great, the angel could always sense the underlying tension in his back.

 

Dean crosses his arms, “He’s staying after school like a good nerd.”

 

“And?” Castiel prompts, because he can read Dean like a book.

 

Shuffling awkwardly around Cas to go sit on the bed, Dean puts his head in his hands. Castiel follows shortly after. He thinks back to their little argument, the kid's reluctance to fight had pissed him off more than he could express. But Castiel had always understood before, he reluctantly summarizes.

 

“We’re fighting. Got into an argument and the kid’s pouting.”

 

“Dean,” Castiel groans exasperated, resting his head against Dean’s shoulder. “I thought you were more grown up than that. It’s about righteous anger, Dean, you can’t just get pissed over little things and leave your little brother out to dry.”

 

“Are you lecturing me?” Dean asks, surprisingly angrier about this then he thought he'd be.

 

“Apparently, I am,” Castiel replies, suddenly sitting up, sounding dominating. “Someone has to.”

 

He tries to calm himself, but it’s so hot seeing Castiel take control like that. Gathering what little courage he has, Dean makes an impulsive decision. He leans forward and goes in for an actual smooch. Well, Castiel’s lips are parted as he’s about to talk, so their teeth clack together awkwardly.

 

For a blissful two seconds, everything in the world collides and harmonizes. Then, like a cracking whip, Castiel pushes him off, sputtering gawkingly. Dean can’t help but lick his lips, tasting the leftover tang of vodka and the unmistakable flavor of Castiel.

 

Castiel snaps his fingers, like he’s forgot something, but Dean see’s his glossed over eyes clear like he’s magicked himself sober. Dean watches in amazement as his clothing rearrange themselves normal. Castiel runs his fingers through his hair, looking at Dean with compassion and confusion. “My wonderful Dean, you can’t kiss me—”

 

“Are you rejecting me?”

 

“Dean.” Is all Cas says, all sad like.

 

“So you are rejecting me?”

 

“Dean, you know that I care about you.” Castiel starts with a heavy sigh. “But there are so many reasons why you cannot kiss me.”

 

“Is this because of the guy you’re in love with?” Dean challenges. Maybe in ten minutes he’ll be embarrassed by the blatant rejection, but he’s still riding on the euphoric adrenalin that is kissing Castiel. He feels on top of the world. “If it is, just tell me and  I’ll never try to get with you again.”

 

Then, like the universal fuck you, Castiel begins to disappear.

 

“Are you fucking serious?” Dean laughs in disbelief. “Are you sure you can’t control it? Because this is impeccable timing, almost like you’re running away. Not that I blame you for running away, because that’s all I do with my love life.”

 

Cas reaches out, touching his cheek. “I see you soon. Please make up with Sam, you need each other.”

 

He spends the moments of Castiel disappearing, leaning into the angel’s caress.

 

When he is fully gone, Dean stands up from the bed and goes over to the record player. He puts the needle back and evanesces into the music. Bette Davis eyes isn’t the worst song Castiel could’ve listened to, he tugs off his Dad’s leather jacket as the lyrics wash over him.

 

 

_She'll let you take her home, it works her appetite_

_She'll lay you on the throne, she got Bette Davis eyes_

 

 

Bopping his head to the melody, Dean realises the intertwining notes of the song are hypnotic. It feels like he’s at woodstock or something, the air thick with hotboxing hippies. Dean can barely breath as Kim Carnes croons in his ears. No wonder Castiel had picked this song, it feels like a drug trip.

 

Before he can think into the meaning of the lyrics, Sammy busts through the door.

 

 

_She'll take a tumble on you, roll you like you were dice_

_Until you come out blue, she's got Bette Davis eyes_

 

 

“What in the hell are you listening to?”

 

**November 2005**

_Dean is 26_

 

They spend a week in Palo Alto looking for the thing that killed Jess. That killed mom. Coming up empty-handed is almost as bad as any grieving Sam could’ve done. The kid doesn’t even go to her funeral, apparently, he never got along with her folks. Instead of talking about it, they head to Blackwater Ridge from the coordinates Dad left in his journal.

 

“You wanna drive for a while?” Dean breaks the silence, taking in the red puffiness of Sam’s eyes.

 

“Dean, your whole life you never once asked me that.”

 

Focusing back on the road, Dean feels defensive. “Just thought you might want to. Never mind.”

 

They park at the ranger station a few miles out of the coordinates, heading inside and looking for any clues. Sam looks at a topographical map of the national forest, studying the specific the ridge they were supposed to head out to. Before he can point it out to Dean, a forest ranger walks up behind them.

 

“You boys aren't planning on going out near Blackwater Ridge by any chance?” He asks abruptly, Dean and Sam whip around, startled.

 

“Oh, no, sir, we're environmental study majors from UC Boulder, just working on a paper.” Sam laughs a little and Dean grins, first laugh he’s heard from the kid,  punching his fist into the air. He makes his voice as psychedelic and surfer as possible. “Recycle, man.”

 

“Bullshit.” The Ranger looks at them suspiciously. “You're friends with that Haley girl, right?”

 

After a moment of consideration, Dean confirms. He glances at the guy's name tag first, making sure he can pronounce it right before he begins talking. “Yes. Yes, we are, Ranger Wilkinson.”

 

The ranger smirks, smug as hell that he’d figured them out. Dean wasn’t going to argue with him.

 

“Well, I will tell you exactly what we told her. Her brother filled out a backcountry permit saying he wouldn't be back from Blackwater until the twenty-fourth, so it's not exactly a missing person now, is it?” He waits for them to agree with him before he continues. “You tell that girl to quit worrying, I'm sure her brother's just fine.”

 

Squinting, Dean leans a little closer. “We will. That Haley girl's quite a pistol, huh?”

 

Wilkinson scoffs. “That is putting it mildly.”

 

“Actually you know what would help is if I could show her a copy of that backcountry permit. You know, so she could see her brother's return date.” When Wilkinson eyes him skeptically, Dean simply raises his eyebrows practically begging for confrontation.

 

They leave the ranger station, permit in possession. Dean holds the piece of paper tightly in his grip, flaunting it in front of Sammy’s unimpressed face. The Sasquatch crosses his arms, walking over to the Impala with an extra stomp to his step.

 

“Are you cruising for a hookup or something?”

 

Dean almost laughs. “What do you mean?”

 

Sam looks directly at the sun, not bothering to avert or cover his eyes. Dean looks at the kid; his dark circles and greasier than normal hair. “The coordinates point to Blackwater Ridge, so what are we waiting for? Let's just go find Dad. I mean, why even talk to this girl?”

 

“I don't know, maybe we should know what we're walking into before we actually walk into it?”

 

He pauses, taking the lull in the conversation to unlock the Impala.

 

“What?” Sam asks, crawling into the passenger side.

 

“Since when are you all shoot first ask questions later, anyway?”

 

Seeing Sam’s thoughts turn dark, quickly. Probably turning to Jess, Dean guesses.

 

“Since now.”

 

“Really?”

 

Sam doesn’t reply, just turns away to the window. Dean grumbles, turning the switch and pulling the gear into drive. No matter if Sam wanted to go in guns blazing, Dean wasn’t going to be stupid. He pulls the car onto the highway and makes his way to this Haley Collins house.

 

Her house isn’t too hard to find, actually on a street near town and not back into the boonies. Sam and Dean stand on her porch after some solid knocking. After a couple minutes wait, the door opens to a girl with a head of brown hair and stunning blue eyes. His heart aches.

 

Putting on his most charming smile, “You must be Haley Collins. I'm Dean, this is Sam, we're, ah, we're rangers with the Park Service. Ranger Wilkinson sent us over. He wanted us to ask a few questions about your brother Tommy.”

 

She clearly hesitates. “Let me see some ID.”

 

Dean pulls out his fake ID and holds it up against the screen. She looks at it, then at Dean, who smiles.

 

Haley finally, although reluctant, cracks opens the door. “Come on in.”

 

“Thanks.” Dean waits for more room to get in. Haley flushes when she realizes she’s blocking the way and the doors not even all the way open. The door swings compensatingly wide; Haley catches sight of the Impala.

 

“That yours?” She nods her head in the Impala’s direction.

 

“Yeah.”

 

Dean watches as her eyes sweep over Baby appraisingly, “Nice car.”

 

Haley turns to lead Sam and Dean into the dining room, as soon as she turns her back, Dean makes an exaggerated eyebrow wiggle to Sammy, who rolls his eyes. She seats them in her kitchen, where her little brother is on his laptop, then heads to the kitchen.

 

“Sit at the table with Ben and I'll be right back,” She calls from the other room.

 

“So if Tommy's not due back for a while, how do you know something's wrong?” Sam asks.

 

Haley comes back into the room with a bowl she places on the table. Dean digs his hand into the bowl and pulls out a hand full of pretzels. “He checks in every day by cell. He emails, photos, stupid little videos—we haven't heard anything in over three days now.”

 

“Well, maybe he can't get cell reception.” Sam offers, hands folded in his lap.

 

Shaking her head. “He's got a satellite phone, too.”

 

“Could it be he's just having fun and forgot to check in?” Dean says with a dry mouth full of pretzels.

 

Her little brother, Ben, speaks up. Obviously angry.  “He wouldn't do that.”

 

“Our parents are gone. It's just my two brothers and me. We all keep pretty close tabs on each other.” Haley explains, rubbing her brother's head in a motherly way. Ben, who leans into the touch like he’s been deprived, looks down sadly with a quivering lip.

 

Sam has a heartbroken expression his face.  “Can I see the pictures he sent you?

 

“Yeah.” She agrees, taking the laptop from her brother and pulls up pictures. Haley clicks twice and another picture comes up, then the still frame opening the latest video. “That's Tommy.”

 

Blinking, Dean tries to focus on the guy’s surrounding; the inside of the tent, the obvious supernatural sounding noises, or even the shadows dancing around the outside of the tent. But, his mind can’t help but point out that Tommy is dreamy. Okay, maybe not as intense as Castiel, but enough that he feels dumbfounded.

 

Dean watches the screen, queasy at the embarrassing attraction he feels. With any luck, this is just passing animal magnetism. “Hey Haley, day six, we're still out near Blackwater Ridge. We're fine, keeping safe, so don't worry, okay? Talk to you tomorrow.”

 

The video ends and Dean rises to his feet, shuffling uneasily. He throws his thumb towards the door, “Well, we'll find your brother. We're heading out to Blackwater Ridge first thing.”

 

Standing up, touching his elbow. She pulls back as soon as they come into contact with each other like she realizes it’s not appropriate to touch someone you’ve just met. “Then maybe I'll see you there. Look, I can't sit around here anymore. So I hired a guy. I'm heading out in the morning, and I'm gonna find Tommy myself.”

 

He listens raptly, pressing all other cognizance to the back of his thoughts, nodding as he recognizes the familiar words. “I think I know how you feel.”

 

Sam click the mousepad, then stands up next to Dean. “Hey, do you mind forwarding these to me?”

 

“Sure.” She actually looks relieved.

 

Someone breaks a game of pool, the sound is clanking over the run-of-the-mill bar music, and Dean settles further into the booth. It’s practically tradition to eat greasy and unhealthy food before a case.

 

The dive is dingy and the ambiance gritty, a glossy textured film on his booths countertop and a snaggle tooth waitress that all the men were hitting on. It’s one of those places that has a sticky see-through tablecloth, multiple semi-trucks parked in the back lot, and a single server that smells like an entire pack of cigarettes and grief.

 

Her name is Betty because it's clique for a reason.

 

The atmosphere had a thickness to it, not necessarily a smell or anything sticky, but a well-worn, faded kind of feeling.

 

He spends a couple seconds glancing over his options, chews on his thumbnail and tears at the skin around it. It’s a habit he’d never been able to cut, biting and picking at his nails. His Dad had tried his damnedest to make him stop, taping them up, dipping them in gasoline, even making him wear a rubber band around his wrist to snap when he felt the impulse to bite. He remembernail-bitingbiting had been his Dad’s biggest pet peeve.

 

Dean orders a number five after seeing the word bacon, let’s Sam ask questions about carbs and trans fats to the completely unenthusiastic waitress, and sips his drink. The taste is strong and it feels like hair sprouting on his chest.

 

Sighing into his bourbon, this wasn’t the kind of place where you would ever order anything remotely mixed. Maybe a jack and coke if you were feeling adventurous. He sneaks a glance over at Sammy, the nerd typing away on his laptop.

 

It had only been a week and a half since he’d last seen Castiel, but the absenteeism was still difficult to get through. He might feel bitter from their last visit, as short as it was and how Castiel had known that Sam’s girlfriend was going to get murdered identically to their mom. But Castiel is a time-traveller, he’ll always be one hundred steps ahead of them.

 

It just hurts to remember that Castiel knows all the bad that’s going to happen in their life, knows about the deaths and the sorrow and the havoc. He can’t imagine the turmoil that’s constantly playing in the angel’s mind. He takes another sip out of his low-ball glass of whisky.

 

Remembering back to when he was a kid, he thinks of the way Castiel explained it. Timelines are important, and the way they play out without becoming interrupted is vital. So, maybe not telling Dean that their Dad is going to get stabbed on a hunt is saving the universe.

 

He almost groans at the implications.

 

“So, Blackwater Ridge doesn't get a lot of traffic. Local campers, mostly. But still, this past April, two hikers went missing out there. They were never found.” Sam closes the computer, and pulls out their dad’s journal from his satchel, lays it on the table and opens it.

 

Dean takes a glance at the page Sam is pointing at. All their Dad had titled it as was, Weird Disappearance. There’s a newspaper clipping glued in describing hikers going missing. He reads a little about how the local authorities think it’s a wild animal, scanning the words before looking up as Sammy.  

 

“Any before that?”

 

“Yeah, in 1982, eight different people all vanished in the same year. Authorities said it was a grizzly attack.” Sam reopens his laptop, swiveling it around to Dean and showing the news article he’d found. “And again in 1959 and again before that in 1936. Every twenty-three years, just like clockwork. ”

 

Scratching his chin, “I wonder what kind of monster has a pattern this specific?”

 

“Okay. Here's a clincher. I downloaded that guy Tommy's video to the laptop. Check this out.” Sam pulls up the video and goes through three frames of the video one at a time. A shadow crosses the screen. It’s definitely not a bear.  “That's three frames. That's a fraction of a second. Whatever that thing is, it can move.”

 

“Do it again.” Dean squints, grinning like a maniac when he sees the faint outline of claws. “Told you something weird was going on.”

 

Rolling his eyes, “Yeah.”

 

Taking another look at the report in their Dad’s journal, Dean locks onto the word survivor from the paragraph. “Hook, line, and sinker. We got a live one, Sammy. ”

 

Impressed, Sam asks, “You got a name?”

 

“Randy Shaw. In 'fifty-nine one camper survived this supposed grizzly attack. Just a kid. Barely crawled out of the woods alive. He suseeded his parents, who got mauled and murdered by the grizzly. Oh, and he’s practically a hermit now and denies any interview. Awesome.” Dean rubs his jaw, “How are we going to talk to him?”

 

“Well,” Sam pulls out his fake ID. “We could always lie and manipulate to get what we want.”

 

“And here I thought you’d got rusty. Let me retrain you and it’ll be like you never left. Just call me sensei and I’ll call you Ralph Macchio.” Dean punches the kid on the shoulder, laughing at own joke and watching in amusement as Sammy quickly drops his head in his hands.

 

“A karate kid reference?” Sam rolls his eyes. “I hate you.”

 

Dean laughs, wallowing in the familiar brotherly spat. “Okay, Sasquatch.”

 

After a few moments of silence, most of which Dean drinks. Sam speaks up. Face taut like he’d been sucking on a bitter lemon. “We can’t let that Haley girl go out there.”

 

“Oh yeah?” Dean raises his eyebrow, leaning towards Sam. “What are we gonna tell her? That she can't go into the woods because of a big scary monster?”

 

“Yeah,” Sam agrees, apparently having lost his goddamn mind.

 

“Her brother's missing, Sam. She's not gonna just sit this out. Now we go with her, we protect her, and we keep our eyes peeled for our fuzzy predator friend.” He lamented.

 

“Finding Dad's not enough?” Sam grumbles, slamming his hand down in the table. “Now we gotta babysit too?”

 

Dean stares at him, disturbed.

 

Sam quickly notices. “What?”

 

“Nothing.” Dean says, shaking his head.

 

Sam get’s out of their booth. “I’m going to the bathroom.”

 

With Sam gone to the bathroom, Dean lets his mind wander.

 

And as usual, it goes to Castiel.

 

It’s hard being left behind. He waits for Castiel, not knowing where he is, wondering if he’s okay. It’s hard to be the one who stays. He keeps himself busy, with girls and guys the same. Time goes faster that way. He goes to sleep alone, and wakes up alone.

 

Everything seems simple until you think about it. Why is love intensified by absence?

 

Long ago, men went to sea, and women waited for them, standing on the edge of the water, scanning the horizon for the tiny ship. Now Dean waits for Castiel. He vanishes unwillingly, without warning. Dean waits for him. Each moment that he waits feels like a year, an eternity.

 

Each moment is as slow and transparent as glass.

 

Through each moment Dean can see infinite moments lined up, waiting.

 

Castiel says he comes from the future. When Dean was little he didn’t see any problem with that; He didn’t have any idea what it might mean. Now Dean wonders if it means that the future is a place, or like a place, that he could go to; that is going to in some way other than just getting older.

 

“How dost thou, sweet lord?”

 

He is afraid of the future; it seems to be a big box waiting for him. Dean wonders if Castiel could take him to the future. Instead of asking, Dean looks up at Castiel, confused and happy. “Shakespeare? Hamlet? Why?”

 

“Because it was just the fourth of July,” Castiel explains unambiguously and sits in Sam’s spot. Dean hopes the Sasquatch takes a couple minutes, it’s nice to have his angel all to himself for a few unadulterated moments.  “What’s the date?”

 

“November fifth, 2005,” Dean says. The date is apparently one Castiel recognizes.

 

He makes this huffing noise through his nose, then says. “Wendigo.”

 

“No,” Dean shakes his head. Maybe Castiel is right, he does have the upper-hand of knowledge, but the chances are slim with the evidence they’ve collected so far. “Wendigos are in the Minnesota woods or northern Michigan. They’re never this far west.”

 

“Trust me.” Is Castiel defense, like he was expecting Dean’s rebuttal. He busies himself with Sam’s forgotten laptop, opening it and typing. He finishes and twists the screen to show Dean a First Nations–style drawing of a wendigo. “The sooner you and Sam go and torch the abominable creature, the better.”

 

Dean still feels skeptical. “How do you know for sure? It’s not like you’re here.”

 

“I have a Winchester bible.” Castiel chuckles lowly, something he does when he has an inside joke with Dean’s future self. “And it’s pretty accurate. Plus, I pretty much know everything about you, I’ve known you since you were a baby.”

 

Sam comes back before Dean can further interrogate. The kid spends a couple seconds staring at Castiel’s back before he clicks the pieces together, a smile tugging on his lips. Dean forgot this was his first time seeing Castiel since he’d run away to college. “Cas! It’s great to see you, man. How long has it been?”

 

“By whose definition?” Castiel replies jokingly, standing up to hug Sam. “My, how you’ve grown.”

 

“You sound like Dean.” Sam quips, rolling his eyes fondly. “I’m only an inch taller, you two.”

 

“Great minds think alike, and all that jazz.” Dean says, letting Cas slip in next to him. Sam sits across from them, drinking the last of his coke, he sees that his laptop has been opened. His eyes widen when he notices the wendigo.

 

“Yeah, an inch taller.” Castiel deadpans. “Last I saw you were four feet.”

 

“Let me see Dad's journal.” Sam ignores the witticism, “This might actually be a Wendigo.”

 

Dean groans, shaking his head slowly, “Not you too.”

 

Castiel smiles smugly and repeats. “Great minds think alike?”

 

“It can’t be a Wendigo.” He says to Sam, ignoring Castiel. “We’re in the wrong part of the country.”

 

“I’m not saying it is,” Sam allows, pointing to a picture his Dad had drawn in the journal. “But this is our only lead and I suggest we follow it. Let’s head over to Randy's house and see if there is anything he remembers that resembles a Wendigo; like claw marks, voice mimicking, or above average intelligence. This might help us find Dad.”

 

He doesn’t miss the way that Castiel shifts at the mention of John. “Still not going to tell us where our dad is?”

 

“No.”

 

It’s more empathetic than he expected, especially since they haven’t kissed since Castiel’s gotten here. It’s making him concerned, slightly confused as well. He’s sure there’s some reason for it, not that he knows what that happens to be for sure. Maybe his Dad really is hurt at this Blackwater Ridge, dying slowly because his sons are too slow to figure it out.

 

“Let’s go to Mr. Randy Shaw’s house,” Dean suggest, thinking of something to lighten the mood, “We can even place a bet on if it’s a wendigo or not.”

 

“Twenty bucks says it is,” Sam says, slipping out of the booth.

 

“Yes.” Cas smiles, digging into the cavernous pockets of his trench coat. “I have fifty dollars to add to the pot. Apparently scamming games of pool for money was a good idea. Dean had me act drunk and play terribly, resulting in myself making double our money back.”

 

Sam punches Dean on the arm. “Quit corrupting Cas.”

 

“Hey!” Dean whines, grabbing his shoulder, “I haven’t done it yet.”

 

They pull up to Randy Shaw’s apartment a quarter of an hour later, smiles on their faces and bellies aching with laughter. Dean felt the corners of his mouth and cheeks burn from their constant use. If frowning used more muscles than smiling, why was it more strenuous to do the opposite? The apartment complex was in a rough urban part of this rural country town, where every street corner was lit up with faulty neon signs and cigarette butts.

 

It almost felt wrong to bring an angel into this environment, but Castiel showed no discomfort. Instead, he asked questions about; their lives currently, Jessica, he almost brought up Cassidy, and even about the thing that killed mom.

 

Dean replied the way he always did, “All we know is a monster killed her, Cas. Nothing new.”

 

“That’s good,” Cas says simply. “You’ll solve it all when you’re meant to.”

 

“I doubt it, Cas,” Sam said, a Debbie downer as always. “Dad’s been searching for over twenty years and he’s not a step closer.”

 

“Don’t underestimate your father,” Cas warns sternly, then smiles again. “Now, let’s go ask Mr. Shaw about his Wendigo problem.”

 

“It’s not a Wendigo,” Dean mumbles, totally unconvinced.

 

Cas knocks on Randy’s door, winking at Dean flirtily before straightening his tie. Randy opens the door a short thirty seconds later, face worn and tired. He looks ready to keel over dead with his cigarette hanging loosely from his lips, Dean thinks as he sizes him up, probably an alcoholic or frequent drinker.

 

“Sorry. I’m not interested in Jehovah’s witness.” He says, gruffly.

 

“That’s quite alright, Mr. Shaw. I’m positive that no one is.” Castiel says before Dean can respond. Cas holds out his hand for a shake, “I’m Ranger Novak, these are my two interns ranger’s, Plant and Jones. We need to ask you a few questions.”

 

Randy crosses his arms, suspicion in his posture. “Ask away.”

 

“What happened on the day your family was murdered?”

 

There's a brief silence, Randy gesturing them to come inside. “Look, Ranger, I don’t know why you're asking me about this. It’s public record. I was a kid. My parents got mauled by a—”

 

“Grizzly?” Dean finishes, raising his eyebrows. “That’s what attacked them?”

 

Dean watches the hesitation as Randy slowly nods. Castiel steps closer to the old man. “The other people that went missing that year, were those bear attacks, too? What about all the people that went missing this year, same thing? Mr. Shaw, please listen to me. If we knew what we were dealing with, we might be able to stop it.”

 

“I seriously doubt that.” Randy throws his half-finished cigarette to the floor, stubbing it out with the steel toe of his boot, sitting down in his recliner behind him. “Anyway, I don’t see the difference it would make. You wouldn’t believe me. Nobody ever did.”

 

“Mr. Shaw, what did you see?” Sam asks, eyes like a puppy. “We’ll believe you.”

 

Sighing, Randy takes a quick pause. “I saw nothing. It moved too fast to see. It hid too well. I heard it, though. A roar like no man or animal I’ve ever heard.”

 

“It came at night?” Castiel asked, stepping closer.

 

“Yes,” Randy replied.

 

Sam bites his lip. “It got inside your tent?”

 

Randy’s head snapped up, suddenly determined. “It got inside our cabin.  I was sleeping in front of the fireplace when it came in. It didn’t smash a window or break down the door, it unlocked it. Do you know of a bear that could do something like that? I didn’t even wake up until I heard my parents screaming. It killed them, dragging them off into the night. Why it left me alive, I’ve been asking myself that ever since.”

 

“Did you get hurt, Mr. Shaw?” Castiel prompted like he already knew the answer.

 

“Yeah.” Randy pulled down the collar of his shirt, revealing claw-mark scars. Three thick, red lines, vivid in color though they were long healed. Dean can’t tear his eyes away. “There’s something evil in those woods. It was some sort of a demon.”

 

Cas leans into Dean’s shoulder, check presses against check, hot breath puffing into the sensitive part of his neck. “It’s not a demon. Ghosts and demons don't have to unlock doors. If they want inside any place, they are able to go through the walls. Besides, we’re looking for something that has claws.”

 

“Thank you, Mr. Shaw,” Sam says, breaking their moment and shaking the man’s hand. “We’ll be in touch.”

 

They leave Randy’s apartment more apprehensive than before, all his stories did was solidify Castiel’s theory and squander any other option. Dean presses his lips together in aggravation, he’s not normally this against Castiel’s future wisdom. He usually encourages it and begs to know anything Castiel is willing to give him, so he doesn’t know why his first instinct is to argue the future knowledge instead of accepting it.

 

As soon as Castiel had offered up the monster without so much of a fight, Dean had been wary to believe it and that made him feel wrong; very unlike himself. He never takes Castiel’s advice with a pinch of salt, he held it above everything else. With this in mind, Dean waits until they get back into the Impala, on their way to a cheap motel to shack up in, before he apologizes.

 

Sam slinks into the back, pulling out headphones and his iPod.

 

“Hey Cas,” Dean starts, not bothering to look over at him in the passenger's side. “I’m sorry.”

 

Cas looks at him in surprise, but Dean steals his eyes to the pavement. “For what?”

 

“Not trusting you on this whole Wendigo thing. I’ve just been pretty messed up since Dad went missing,” He struggles to make up a convincing excuse, opting to just come clean. “Hell, I don’t even know why I was so against it. I don't understand my own emotions Cas and I guess I’m sorry for putting you in my line of fire.”

 

“Dean,” Cas says his name so fondly it feels like a promise. “Look at me, please.”

 

He risks a quick glance over to the angel, meeting his eyes briefly. “Yeah?”

 

“I love you.” The words are so soft, nearly muffled by the sound of the Impala’s engine, Dean almost misses them. Cas smiles, face relaxed and eyes gentle. He repeats himself. “I love you so much, Dean. And I’m sorry that as soon as I appeared here, you didn’t hear those words escape my mouth upon seeing you. I know it’s hard, being the one left behind with different versions of myself who might not have shared any explicit moment with you. I admire you and I love you for that. Nothing will ever change that, my love.”

 

A small noise sounds in the back of Dean's throat without his permission, it's coupled with warmth spreading through his body. He look’s in the rearview mirror to make sure Sammy isn’t tuning in like the little eavesdropper he is. He feels relieved to see Sam with his music plugged in and eyes closed.

 

“I don’t know how to respond. You know how I feel— how I’ve felt since I was a kid.” His cheeks flush at the divulgence and memories. How he was jealous of himself for most of his teenage years, thinking that some other hunter had swept Castiel off his feet with a knife to the heart.

 

His mind wanders to kissing Castiel, he asks. “May I kiss you?”

 

“Not while you're driving.” His voice is teasing.

 

“Come on, Cas.” Dean rolls his eyes. “I’ve gotten road head before, I’m sure I can handle a little kiss.”

 

“And to think I was going to let you use tongue.” Cas sighs, then grins at Dean face. “Oh well.”

 

“Wait, are you serious?” Dean asks pathetically.

 

“I guess you’ll never know.” Cas says cryptically, still smiling.

 

Dean shakes his head in astonishment. “But what if it’s important to the timeline that we kiss.”

 

“Maybe you should’ve thought of that before you tried to make me jealous with your past sexual experiences.” Cas shrugged, looking out the door window like he wasn’t effected in the slightest. “So you agree this monster is probably a Wendigo?”

 

“Yes.” Dean answers. “Like you said at Randy’s house. It can’t be a ghost or demon. They can pass through walls.”

 

“That mean’s it's something corporeal.” Castiel informs. “Any other theories? I’m willing to listen.”

 

“Corporeal? Excuse me, professor.” Dean laughs.

 

“Shush, Dean. Tell me what you think.” Cas says exasperated, but enamored.

 

Dean thinks about the information they have so far, from Haley to Randy and even what their Dad has in his journal. He finally speaks, “The claws, the speed that it moves— could be a skinwalker, maybe a black dog. Whatever we're talking about, Wendigo or not, we're talking about a creature, and it's _corporeal_ as you’ve said. Which means we can kill it.”

 

“This is actually reminding me of the fourth of July.”

 

“What?” Dean asks, switching lanes for their turn off.

 

“Us talking in the front of the Impala, Sam out of it in the back. Remember that night, Dean?” Castiel speaks of it like it was yesterday, maybe it was for him. “I was so nervous Bobby Singer was going to wake up and shoot me with his gun for throwing pebbles at your window. We had a very deep conversation as I recall.”

 

“About the Beatles, yeah.” Dean laughs lightly. “I’m still a Paul girl, and you still like John?”

 

“Of course.” Dean opens his mouth to say something, but Castiel gives him no chance to speak. “As I recall you had started to cry that day, it just came back to me. Why were you crying? I’m sure those teenage embarrassing feeling have all but dried out.”

 

Dean squints as he trying to remember the reason. “Oh yeah. I was crying because you were with another guy or girl in the future. You said you loved them very much and well, I’d always had this fantasy in my brain that you’d only feel that way towards me. I see now how stupid I was.”

 

“You were such a delicate flower.” Cas smiles at him sweetly, hand reaching over to grasp Dean’s leg. “You’d kill me for saying that now. But you really were a beautifully sensitive child and teenager. If only your life had played out differently, I can see that you would have gone far in life. Academically and emotionally. Hunting and the supernatural are like burdens on your perfect soul.”

 

Dean pulls into their motel, gearing the Impala into park. “Well, hunting is a part of me, Cas.”

 

“I know.” He says sadly. “And I pray to God that you’ll eventually leave this life.”

 

“Dean stop hunting? I thought you knew him better, Cas.” Sam says sarcastically, jumping out of the Impala and going to pay for their rooms. “Should I buy an extra room? You spending the night Cas or are you going to disappear soon?”

 

Castiel looks thoughtful, then says. “I’ll help you fight the monster tomorrow, then I’m unsure.”

 

“Okay, two queens and an extra full.” Sam says, turning to walk away.

 

“We can share a bed.” Dean suggests once Sam is far enough away, turning to Cas.

 

“No,” Cas shakes his head. “I’d really appreciate my own sleeping quarter. I’ve not slept in some time and I’d really like to take advantage of this.”

 

Dean feels the red tint his cheeks, “God, Cas. Not share a bed like that.”

 

“I know your suggestion is innocent. You’re only twenty-six. We don’t even make out until you turn twenty-eight.” Cas shares the information freely, like he expects Dean to want to know about the cockblock that is his life. “I hope that’s something you’ll look forward to.”

 

“Can you give me something more specific than just an age?”

 

Castiel bites his lip, they’ve migrated out of the Impala now, standing and waiting for Sam to come back with their keys. He waits patiently for the answer. “I can give some hints, I suppose. You hadn't seen me in a while, and you’ve just been through a terrible experience. The passion simply overwhelmed us.”

 

Sighing, “I wish the passion overwhelmed us now.”

 

“Well, you're not driving anymore.”

 

Those words were like fiery ice trickling down his spine, it was permission.

 

Sam comes stumbling back over before he can act, tossing Cas his room key. “I got a pretty sweet deal. I think the lady at the counter liked me.”

 

“Why wouldn’t she like you?” Castiel asks curiously.

 

Dean nudges Cas, a fond smile on his face. “He means _like like_ , Cas.”

 

“Ah, like sexual attraction.” Castiel nods to himself, smiling. He looks to the door with his number. “Well, goodnight. I’ll see you both in the morning.”

 

“Wait.” Dean says before he can stop himself. Sam looks at him questioningly. Dean ignores it and surges for Castiel like a man consumed with starvation. He wraps around Castiel, Dean’s arms around his shoulders as Castiel’s arms circle his waist. They stand like that for a brief silent moment as Dean collects himself. “I was wondering If I could kiss you goodnight?”

 

“Of course,” Cas says and they’re kissing.

 

It’s nothing more than a press of lips, but the simple act makes Dean’s insides feel like hot liquid. 


	6. Moaning Lisa Smile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> het sex beware

**December 1999**  
_Dean is 20_

 

Sam and John are off on some Banshee hunt, leaving Dean to his own devices. He’s not expecting, as driving Baby into a podunk town in Indiana, that he’d bump into the hottest chick he’d ever seen in the local sub shop. She’s a yoga instructor, and apparently, that is an actual thing he can cross off his bucket list.

 

It’s basically an entire weekend full of sex.

 

“Oh my God!” Lisa wails, back arching off her bed and sweat rolling off her forehead

 

Smirking around her clit, Dean starts to drag his tongue across the ridges. It brings another moan from her lips, so he settles into a rhythmic motion. He’s sure she’s cum already, shaking with overstimulation, but girls can come multiple times, so he fits his fingers into her.

 

The act is enough to pull out ragged moans as she clenches around his fingers, and cums a second time. He’s really getting into it now, curving his fingers slightly upwards and shoving them in with a gentle caress and rapid tempo. His mouth is still on her, so he puts it to work as well.

 

And just as she’s cuming a third time— Castiel pops into the room.

 

“Well then,” His voice like a whip. “What’s going on here?”

 

Lisa screams, pulling herself away from Dean and rolling under the covers as fast as possible. Dean sits upright, staring at Castiel in awkward embarrassment. It’s only then that he notices the glare. There is no version of Castiel that has ever looked at Dean like this, so cold and unfeeling and entirely unimpressed.

 

“Who is that, Dean?” Lisa screeches, tears of shock running down her face.

 

Dean clears his throat. “An old buddy of mine. Mind if we talk for a minute?”

 

“An old buddy.” She repeats, laughing maniacally. “How the fuck did he get into my bedroom?”

 

“I believe Dean asked for some privacy, Lisa Braeden,” Castiel says, calmly. Then touches her forehead.

 

Her eyes flutter closed as she collapses on the bed, Dean checks her pulse to double check Cas didn’t just kill her. After feeling a steady heartbeat, Dean turns his own glare on Cas for the unnecessary pass outage. “What the—”

 

But Castiel holds up a hand and his eyes stay hard. “What were you just doing?”

 

“Having sex?” Dean replies cautiously. Maybe Cas was having a mental break down.

 

“Having sex.” Castiel repeats mockingly. “How old are you?”

 

This conversation was not making anything less confusing. “I’m legal if that’s what you're asking. Listen, I know this must’ve been awkward for you to pop up in, but I was getting the first action I’ve gotten in weeks, and you kinda ruined it, Buddy.”

 

Cas scoffs, full bodily, and shakes his head. “Why are you are the love of my life again?”

 

Dean almost swallows his tongue.

 

The words are like a circuit malfunction in his brain, everything gets slowed down as he replays them over and over like vinyl. To hear those words feel like the best thing he’s ever experienced; like warm milk and honey flowing through his body and a bomb exploding under his ribcage.

 

Kind of like heartburn, but in a nice way.

 

Castiel watches him, seeming to gage him for a reaction, for long and drawn out minutes.

 

Dean only realizes what he must look like right now, as he’s getting the long-awaited love confession of his dreams, sprawled across a random bed when it’s not even properly dark yet, dick starting to soften, fingers still messy with Lisa’s wetness.

 

Just a disgusting whore who’ll get off anywhere, with anyone.

 

And instead of, _I love you too_ , all he can say is, “I’m twenty years old.”

 

“Good,” Castiel says dryly. “That means there isn’t a hole in the fabric of space and time, again.”

 

Ignoring that last bit, Dean asks, “Why did you want to know my age?”

 

“Because I’m allowed to kiss you at twenty.”

 

That information is even more ludicrous than the last, a bit less romantically soul-crushing, but still crazy for him to wrap his head around. Why at twenty is it okay for them to kiss? What happened to Castiel’s hunter husband that’s missing him at home while he’s galavanting through Dean’s life? It just doesn’t make sense.

 

“Are you a shapeshifter?” Dean questions, “A demon is another option, although rarer.”

 

“Let’s go into the kitchen.” Castiel suggests sarcastically. “There's silverware and salt in there so you can check me.”

 

They actually do go into the kitchen, although Dean skips out on the tests. Even though he’s skeptical, Dean is one hundred percent positive that this is Castiel. He's shrugged on Lisa’s skimpy pink satin robe after a couple minutes of failed attempts searching for his own garments.

 

The breeze and texture of the fabric make goosebumps prickles onto his skin, adding to the ones already there from the confession he just heard. They sit on Lisa’s barstools, legs brushing together.

 

“Are you going to explain yourself?” Dean asks, cumbersome and confused. The last time he’d allowed himself to feel romantically towards Castiel, it had resulted in a fierce rejection. A rejection that had plagued his heart ever since. “I thought you didn’t _like like_ me.”

 

“Like like?” Castiel repeated, confused.

 

Dean tries to explain, “Sexual attraction.”

 

“Oh.” Cas nods, then says, “I don’t _like like_ you.”

 

He sighs in relief and a tad of disappointment. “Then what did you mean earlier?”

 

“I don’t _like like_ you.” Castiel repeats, adding, “I love you.”

 

“You love me?” Dean asks for confirmation. “Are you sure? Last time we went over this, you told me no.”

 

“Actually, I never said I didn’t love you.” Castiel corrects him. “I simply said you couldn’t kiss me. It was too soon, you were only a seventeen-year-old boy. Barely old enough to understand love and life. Everything that shapes your personality was still to come. I’m saying now, you’re allowed to kiss me.”

 

Dean recognizes a come on when he hears one, but it still seems too good to be true. “I’m still not buying it.”

 

“Okay,” Cas stand up from the stool, like he was expecting this reaction, patting down his trenchcoat and pulling out a rectangular object. It was sleek, and thin, with two sides; one black and glossy and the other mat black with an apple stamped onto it. Castiel was totally prepared for Dean to be skeptical. It made him think about all the other things Castiel must know about him before Dean does. “If you don’t believe me, watch this video.”

 

Castiel turned on the screen, typed in a password and clicked on an icon in the device. Future technology fascinated him, Dean laughed. He enjoyed watching Castiel tinker with everything from his time, it all seemed so futuristic. A device that thin could hold all this information? Crazy.

  
“Is that your cell phone?” Dean asked, he’d seen the technology before. Cas had first shown it to him when he was younger, probably twelve. It had been the coolest thing he’d ever experienced, Skynet to the next level. Machines were going to take over the world.

 

“Yes, it’s called an iPhone.” Castiel smiles, turning the phone on its side and pressing the play button.

 

A video started up, blurry and pixilated at first then smoothing out after a few seconds buffer.

  
It was hard to make out, the cameraman was shaking so much. Then he heard a voice, a drawl to it and gruffness that sounded misplaced. Dean leaned closer to try and place the familiar sound. His own face popped up on the screen, and Dean jumped back. It was an older version of himself.

 

His older self said, a bit warbly over the recording, “Are you snap chatting me, Cas?”

 

Dean scrunched up his eyebrows at the unfamiliar lingo. He was more curious than before.

 

“No,” Castiel’s baritone of a voice filtered through the speakers. “This is for my personal collection.”

 

Future Dean laughed, wiggling his eyebrows. “Spank bank, huh? Well, video away.”

 

Castiel’s laugh was deep too, heavy and condensed like syrup and molasses. Dean watched himself on the screen, crows feet at his eyes and facial hair spare but obvious on his chin. If he looked too closely he could see a few grays. “You know why I’m recording it, my love. You’ve watched this exact same video.”

 

“Yes, I do. That’s why I’m teasing you so much.” Older-Dean smiles, laugh lines like deep caves on his face. He turns to look straight into the camera, making Dean suck in a sudden breath. “Howdy junior, how's it feel seeing yourself turn into a distinguished silver fox? Don’t worry, I’m still a hit with the ladies.”

 

Castiel speaks again from behind the camera and Dean can’t help but wish Cas was on screen as well, does he look older or is he the same freshed face Angel that’s here with him now. “Tell him what he needs to know. Don’t just quip the entire time.”

 

“Okay,” Older-Dean’s smile fades a little. “I’m going to give it to you straight, Junior. Cas loves you more than anything in the world, that includes bees and burgers. Don’t let ‘em fool ya, okay? He loves you more than you love the Impala. He loves you more than that bitch Meg, and the Reaper cunt. He loves you more than those trashy reality TV shows he watches, Say Yes to the Dress included. He loves you more than his dusty old trench coat. To him, you’re the world. He rescued you from the deepest a human can go, and lifted you up higher than you ever thought was possible. Junior, Cas loves you more than everything."

 

“That was the—”

 

“Shush.” Castiel interrupts him, tilting his head towards the tiny screen.

 

The video shuts off then, kind of awkwardly, then auto-plays the next video in Castiel’s library. It’s another one of him and Cas, this one seems less staged and more spontaneous. Older-Dean is laid sprawled out, with only a pair of boxers on, on a bed that’s got a beige comforter, crisp white sheet, and a cherry tinted headboard. There are guns, one that Dean recognizes as his own .45, arranged methodically on the wall. Book’s upon books are lying on the floor, haphazardly, like they were just read and thrown there. Dean catches one of the titles, _How to Kill a Harpy in 10 easy steps!_ Of course, he’s still hunting, Dean feels his stomach ache.

  
His voice breaks the silence again, Older-Dean’s face popping up on the screen. He sounds flusters and worn out. “Quit distracting me, Cas.”

  
“Why? It’s a simple case.” Castiel replies, out of breath as well. “You’ll have plenty of time to read lore later. I’ll be gone in a few minutes.”

 

Older-Dean rolls his eyes, fondly. “Come here. I love you.”

 

“I love you more,” Castiel argues, the camera falls from his grip, recording the corner of the room. All you can hear are kissing noises, and a strangled moan that Dean knows is his. The Camera gets picked up again, by Older-Dean this time. He points it at Castiel’s flushed body. It goes over his naked chest, focusing on his nipples as Older-Dean pinches them, laughing mercilessly as he does so. It eventually pans up to Castiel’s face.

 

“Say hi to baby me, Cas.”

 

Castiel looks half-crazed, eyes dilated and sweat pouring down this face. Hair matted to his forehead. He turns away, cheeks flushed in hot embarrassment, and says in a broken whimper, “Hello, Dean.”

 

“Yeah, that’s good. Tell him how much you want him.”

 

Groaning, Castiel sucks in a hiccuped breath, “I can’t.”

 

“Do it, Cas. Break all your rules and tell him how much you want to suck his cock.”

 

“Please, Dean—” He breaks off, looking right into the camera and slurs, “I wanna suck your cock.”

 

Dean watches, mouth practically watering, more aroused than he’s ever been, as his older self presses his pointer and middle fingers into Castiel’s mouth. “Suck ‘em, get it all sloppy and wet, just like you’d do to him. Show him what he has in store for him. Make him come in his pants.”

 

Before he can process any more of the video, Castiel abruptly turns it off. “Do you believe me now?”

 

“Yeah,” Dean answers, hoarse. Trying to process exactly what just happened. “It’s hard not to when you show proof like that.”

 

“Good.” Cas grins, like that was all it took to make him happy.

 

“Do we have kids?” The thought terrifies him, but Castiel being a father was on the table since he first showed up

 

Castiel looks at him curiously, “Sorry, that’s classified.”

 

“I’m gonna apply for that one under the Freedom of Information Act,” Dean grumbles, then thinks back to their earlier conversation, “So you said we can kiss now?”

 

“Yes. Do you want to?” Cas asks, innocently.

 

He can’t stop imagining the end of the video. What happened after Cas shut it off. It’s like a weight on his mind, unable to leave even his subconscious. He presses his eyes into his hands until he sees stars behind his lids, digging the heels of his palms into the sockets. It doesn’t help, in fact, it brings more matters forward.

 

And then— _well_.

 

Then, Dean’s a fourteen-year-old girl, suddenly scared of this new emotion tugging at his heart.

 

“We don’t have to,” Cas adds, worried.

 

“No, um.” Dean tries to correct, failing. “It's just a lot to process, I mean.”

 

Cas looks thoughtful, coming towards him. Dean braces for it, keeps his face calm and steady. But when the pressure is never applied, he relaxes and only then is Cas kissing his chin, kissing his eyelids, kissing him all over his face, and Dean feels warmth burst in his chest. He even presses a soft peck to Dean’s nose, so close they’re breathing the same air.

 

“We can save the lips till next time,” Cas whispers into his ear, kissing the earlobe.

 

He starts to disappear, Dean holds onto him dearly. “Do you know when?”

 

“No.” Castiel shakes his head, then says, kissing his adam's apple, “But I’m sure you’ll be ready by then.”

 

He wraps his arms tighter, squeezing until Castiel is too transparent to hold. “I miss you already.”

 

“Farewell, my darling.” Castiel whispers, “The course of true love never did run smooth.”

 

And he was gone, leaving Dean alone again. More desperate than he’d been in years.

 

 **July 1996**  
_Dean is 17_

  
Their Dad had dropped them off three days ago without another word, not that big of a deal considering.

 

The old man had hopped a ride with pastor Jim and left them with Uncle Bobby. His old hound Rumsfeld had acted so damned happy when the Impala had pulled up. It was a stark contrast to how Bobby had just crossed his arms and leaned against his porch, glaring with a downwards tilt to his mouth.

 

They were given their usual rooms, Dean was stuck to lugging their single shared duffle bag up the steep steps while Sam had been tasked with saying the goodbyes to Dad and Pastor Jim. They were quick goodbyes since Dean had rushed to get back in time to at least wave John off. All he’d seen was the blossom of dust Jim’s old Toyota kicked up as he sped off on their hunt.

 

Dean had been sad for approximately ten seconds before realizing the Impala had been left behind.

 

“Why did he leave her here?” Dean walked over to pet the car, like its feelings were hurt.

 

Bobby snorted, “Who knows with that man. Next time I’m seeing him, I’m shooting him.”

 

“How come?” Sammy asks, eye wide.

 

Ruffling the nerd's hair, Bobby turns back to the house and starts walking up the steps. “There’s a difference between protecting your family, and abandoning them. John doesn’t see that, too dead set on revenge.”

 

That had been three days ago, and Dean was still thinking about Bobby’s words. He squeezed the Impala keys in his hand, they were cool against the heat of his palm. It was the fourth of July today. He wondered if Sam remembered that, it’d been so long since they’d celebrated anything. He’s about to toss the keys and crawl into bed when a pebble hits his window.

 

Blinking, Dean stands up slowly and moseys over to the window. He flinches when another rock bounces off the glass. Peering through the window, relief floods through him when he sees Castiel with a handful of pebbles and a huge brown paper bag by his feet. He drops the rocks, waves wildly and looks pleased with himself.

 

Dean bewilderedly waves back, cracks open the window and sticks his head through it. “Cas?”

 

“Dean, come down and bring your brother.” Castiel sounds out of breath, cheeks red like he ran a marathon. Dean can’t be for certain, but he the mysterious bag seems to be filled to the brim with fireworks. “And fetch the keys to the Impala.”

 

“This is a little bit like a romcom, Cas.” Dean whisper-yells back. “Total stereotypical boyfriend trope. I feel like you’re trying to dazzle me with your Shakespearean. I’ll start, Oh Romeo, Romeo. Wherefore art thou, Romeo?”

  
Grinning like a moron, Castiel makes a shushing sound and points to the area of the house where Bobby’s bedroom was. “Where I just came from you seemed pretty put out with Shakespeare! Now, go get your brother, and don’t wake Robert Singer. I don’t feel like being shot tonight.”

 

Sammy wakes up groggily but becomes wide awake when Dean mentions Cas’ name. The duo redress and creep past Bobby’s bedroom, avoiding the squeaky board, then rush down the stairs and out the door. Thankfully Rumsfeld had holed up with Bobby for tonight, otherwise, their cover would've been broken.

  
As soon as they are in Bobby’s yard, Castiel squeezed them into a single hug, one boy under each arm, and begins to wax poetically to an embarrassed Dean. “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate.”

  
Giggling like a little girl, Sam pulls out of the group hug. “Is Cas quoting sonnet 18 to you?”

 

“Nerd,” Dean mumbles, rubbing the back of his neck. He fishes the Impalas keys from his back pocket and dangles them in front of Castiel’s smug face. “Where are we going? I’m sure we’ll get in trouble for shooting fireworks at midnight no matter where we go.”

 

“I know a place,” Cas says all cryptically. He doesn’t grab the keys. “You drive.”

  
 


	7. Carolina in My Mind

**May 1983**  
_Dean is 4_

 

  
The Trenchcoat man is Dean’s best friend. He doesn’t remember his weird name and every time they talk in his dreams, Dean forgets to ask. His mom frowns every time Dean mentions him, talks about them playing together and running around the backyard. His Dad just smiles, reassures her that it’s normal for Dean to have an imaginary friend.

 

She asks what color the trench coat is, Dean laughs in delight because he would gladly talk about anything having to do with his best friend, even if it is regarding the tan color of Trenchcoat man’s actual trench coat.

 

Sammy is born, and Dean loves him. Tells him all these stories about the Trenchcoat man, how he will introduce them when Sammy is old enough to sit up by himself. His Mom listens too, warily. She carves pictures into his walls, tells him not to tell his Dad about them. They’re for protection, she mentions offhandedly. He just giggles, tells her that the Trenchcoat man already protects him.

 

It does not make her stop. In fact, she draws more pictures under his bed and carpets with spray paint. She makes Dean promise to tell her as soon as he sees the man again, says it is important. He agrees easily enough. But as soon as he makes the promise, the man stops visiting him.

 

One day, after a particularly unusual day at daycare, Dean skips off the yellow bus and runs down his block. The house looks the same as usual, big and white, but there’s a wariness Dean feels when he doesn't see his Dad’s car. He walks into the kitchen, dropping his backpack at the door. He lets out a little giggle in consolation when he see’s his Mom.

  
“Hey, Mommy!” He chirps, going to sit at the table and drinks the milk she’d sat out.

 

She smiles softly, “Hey, baby. How was preschool?”

 

“Weird.” He said, gulping down the milk. “The heating went out and the lights kept going wonky.”

 

His mom turns off the faucet and shakes the water from her hands, looking at him with a spooked look on her face. Slowly she brings over the sandwich she’d made for him,

 

“Really? That is weird.”

 

“My teacher said it’s because the building was made wrong,” He explained, finishing the milk with one last sip. He doesn’t notice the way his mom clenches her empty fists like there should be a weapon in them. “A bad constructor and faulty wiring.”

 

“Yeah. That’s probably it.” She nods to herself, the smiles at Dean. “You want the crust cut off?”

 

Dean pretends to think about it, then grins toothily. “Yes, please. I’d love that.”

 

She cuts the crusts like an expert, ruffles Dean’s hair as she moves away from the table. The phone rings and Dean turns to watch her answer it. “Hello?— No, John. We’re not having this conversation again— Think about what? You’ve two boys at home. Fine. Then don’t. There’s nothing more to talk about.”

 

His mom hangs up the phone and turns away from the table, trying to shield Dean from seeing her break down. She sniffs as if she’s fighting back tears. Dean hops down from his seat, wraps his arms around her legs and squeezes. “It’s okay, Mom. Dad still loves you. I love you, too. I’ll never leave you.”

 

Laughing watery, Mary leans down to cup his cheek in her hand. “You are my little angel. How 'bout some pie? Okay.”

After Dean eats his own weight in apple pie, he runs out the back to go play by the creek behind their house. It’s a few yards away from his backyard and sheltered from sight by these huge redbuds, and it’s where he usually meets the Trenchcoat man. He pulls off his sneakers, dipping his toes in the cold stream, touching the smooth rocks.

 

He’s only allowed to stay for a couple minutes, having to come back inside and help his mom with baby Sammy.

 

“Hello, Dean.”

 

Dean quickly yanks his feet out of the water, “Hey! You’re here, Trenchcoat man!”

 

“Yes.” The Trenchcoat man says, “I am here. How are you today, Dean?”

 

“Not good.” Dean pulls on his socks, trying to remember left and right because his socks and shoes wouldn’t fit unless he did. “Mommy was crying because of Daddy.”

 

Humming, “Well, that isn’t good.”

 

It’s still early in the year, not summer yet. So when a cold wind filters through the trees, Dean pulls his little jacket tighter around his body. He thinks back to the warmth of the house. “It’s getting chilly out here. You could come to our house, it’s toasty in there.”

 

“That’s very nice of you, my love. Unfortunately, I am not allowed to meet your mom yet.”

 

“Why not?” Dean is utterly perplexed.

 

Trenchcoat man sits down next to Dean, holding open his arms enough for Dean to climb onto his lap. It’s just like Santa, the thought makes him giggle. “It’s part of the rules. People who time travel aren’t supposed to go around talking to regular people while they visit their times because we might mess things up.”

 

“But you talk to me.”

 

“You’re special. You’re brave and smart and good at keeping secrets.”

 

Dean feels embarrassed. “I told my parents, but they didn’t believe me.”

 

“Oh. Well, don’t worry about it. Very few people ever believe me, either." The man says, likes he's not bothered. “And don’t worry about your parents. They’re too old to understand.”

 

"I believe you," Dean reminds him, then realizes he needs to head back to the house. The Trenchcoat man says thank you.

 

 

 

  
  
**April 2004**  
_Dean is 25_

  
  
While Dean was doing a job in Athens, Ohio; He met this bombshell beauty named Cassidy.

  
Sam was off at Stanford becoming a big-shot lawyer, while Dean was left in the dust. Ever since the kid found out about monsters, he'd been itching to leave. It was like, even though he poured his heart and soul into keeping the kid safe, Dean wasn't enough to keep him around. Of course, Sammy never knows Dean feels this way, his shield of machismo is almost impenetrable. It’s a trait he picked up from his dad, it was girly to cry and bitch about those type of things.

  
John was a marine, had a hard time showing his emotions and was never really there for them. It doesn’t erase the fact that Dean practically idolizes his dad; loves Johns music, praises John’s car like a person, wears his leather jacket, and follows John’s rules similar to a soldier to a general. He knows that’s also a reason Sammy left.

  
It’s Sam’s own solipsism that Dean chews on these days, bitter in his mouth and churning in his stomach.

  
Dean has been constantly camping out near Cassidy’s college campus, sneaking into the girl's dorm more often than not. It’s been a thrill of sorts, waking up for the past couple weeks at the crack of dawn and shimmying down a drain pipe before any authorities see him. It’s like a bubble of domesticity he never realized he’d craved.  
  
But like all good things, it eventually came to an end.  
  
Dean wakes up one morning, not at the sound of Cassidy’s alarm, but her gentle prodding.  
  
“Babe?” She whispers into his ear, “Your phones ringing.”  
  
He reluctantly rolls out of the warmness of covers to search for his discarded pants, shuffling around awkwardly before feeling them halfway strewn under her bed. He pulls out his wallet, keys, and even pocket lint, before finding the cell in his back pocket. His stomach plummets at the caller I.D. on the screen.  
  
“ _Fuck_.” He curses to himself.  
  
“Who was it?” She mumbles, rolling over to face him, hair frizzy and knotted in the most endearing way. She had sleep in her eyes and dried spit on her chin, Dean looks at her in wonder. How can someone so disheveled look so beautiful?  
  
Dean clears his throat, “My, uh, my dad.”  
  
That piques her interest enough to slowly sit up, leaning against the headboard, “Really? Did he leave a message?”  
  
“Yes,” Dean admits, clutching harder to the piece of plastic.  
  
Cassidy looks at him patiently. “Are you going to play it?”  
  
That's the clincher because he absolutely doesn’t want to, under no circumstances. Between Sam leaving and Dean fucking up on their last hunt, John Winchester hasn’t been the most delightful conversationalist. Their last chat ended with John telling Dean to hit the road and stop being such a little girl.  
  
He cringes as he thinks back to it.  
  
“I don’t want to.” He tries to sound diplomatic but ends up sounding like a five-year-old.  
  
She smiles empathetically, “You don’t have to, Babe. Just take a step back and think about the pros and cons of listening, we can even make a list. I’ve got that yellow notebook paper that's perfect for this exact situation.”  
  
He chuckles, “Of course you do, college girl.”  
  
“Always be prepared.” She replied smartly. “I am majoring in journalism.”  
  
Smiling softly, he looks back at the screen. “I’ll play it.”  
  
“Good.” She grins widely, like she won a game he didn’t know they were playing.  
  
He taps the icon, bracing himself, before pressing the phone to his ear.

Johns gruff voice is muffled. “Dean, I need you at North thirty-five degrees point five thousand, nine hundred and fifty-one minutes. West eighty-two degrees point five thousand, five hundred and fifteen minutes. Be here soon, and be sure to bring your A game. We don’t need a repeat of last time.”

The message ends.  
  
It’s so brief and gut-punching, Dean feels like he’s stuck in a frozen moment in time. Like Castiel is holding him and whispering sweet words into the space between his neck and hair. He thinks of Castiel now, how he’d be happy for Dean finding someone that cares about him. That unadulterated love.  
  
“I have to go.” He hears himself say, watches Cassidy’s face fall, and pulls his pants over his legs.  
  
She jumps out of bed, puts her hand on his chest. “Is something wrong? Is your dad okay?”  
  
“He needs me,” Dean grabs his shirt and pulls it over his head. “I’ll be back soon.”  
  
She crosses her arms, face serious. “Dean, tell me the truth.”  
  
The thought had crossed his mind before; telling her the truth. It seemed stupid and unrealistic. She was just a placeholder for Cas, his actual soulmate was going to be showing up soon. But he thinks back to Castiel’s last words, “Choose with your heart when it comes to love, not your brain.” Maybe he knew this was going to happen.  
  
“My dad needs help with a case,” He breaths out, heart pounding in anticipation.  
  
“Is your dad a cop?”  
  
Shaking his head, “No. It’s more of a family business.”  
  
“Like a bounty hunter?” She guesses, sounding confused.  
  
“Kind of. We do call ourselves hunters. We save people. ” He describes, looking away from her bewildered face. “We hunt monsters. Everything that goes bump in the night, we kill it.”  
  
“I don’t understand.” She backs away from him.  
  
He closes his eyes defeated, “Anything paranormal or supernatural, we hunt it.”  
  
“Why are you saying this?” She asks, voice breaking. “Do you want to break up?”  
  
“No.” He says venomously. “I want to stay with you, but my dad needs my help with a case.”  
  
Their conversation lulls as she looks at him, probably expecting him to laugh and tell her he’s joking. He’s got a half a mind to do it too, pretend he’s pranking her and go back to their perfect little apple-pie situation. But he really looks at her, the way she’s curled into herself, and realizes he can't lie to her anymore.  
  
“A case that involves killing monsters?” She clarifies, looking less upset and more angry.  
  
“Yes.” He says, solidly.  
  
She bites her lip, “Get out.”  
  
“What?” He blinks, surprised.  
  
“I said, get out.” She points to the door. “Just a tip though, next time you want to end it with a girl, be less of a jerk. I mean, being a monster hunter isn’t the worst lie a guy's told me. But it’s still a jerk move.”

“I’m not lying.” He says calmly.  
  
She laughs furiously, “And I said get out three times now. Next time I’ll get my taser.”  
  
He slings his leather jacket over his shoulder, looking to the window. “You’re making the wrong decision.”  
  
“So are you.” She nods to him, “I’ll give you one last chance to come clean.”  
  
“I’m telling the truth.” He practically pleads, not wanting to leave this behind. Not wanting to leave her behind.  
  
“Goodbye Dean.” She says.

Before she closes the door in his face, he says, “If you see anything supernatural, don't hesitate to call me.”

He finally sits in the driver's seat of the Impala, tears rushing down his cheeks, and he’s not expecting him.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Castiel says, voice soothing like a soft summer breeze.

Dean can’t look at him, at his loving face, he keeps his head turned to her dorm. Maybe she’ll look out the window, see Dean and reconsider. He can’t move, it feels like something weighing him down. Like an anchor tied to his feet, keeping him from turning on the Impala and gassing it out of the parking lot.

“It’s not your fault.” He hears himself say.

Castiel places his hand on Dean's knee, “Let’s go back up. I’ll explain everything to her.”

“What?” He’s in shock. Castiel would do that for him? “Are you serious?”

“Anything to make you happy Dean.” He answers, already opening his side of the car.  
  
Dean thinks about it hard, how his soulmate would do this for him. Cas is willing to throw away their relationship, their entire life, for Dean to be happy. That’s all he cares about, Dean’s own selfish wants and wishes. Dean’s own selfishness that throws his body at any girl he meets, pretending that he doesn’t have Castiel traveling through time and space for him.

It makes him cry harder. He grabs Castiel’s hand, not letting him get out.

“Stop, Cas.” He says, so incredibly touched. “She was only a placeholder. It’s you I want.”

Cas smiles, softly. “I know, my love. It’s hard for you. If you want someone who can be there for you all the time, this girl could be perfect. If I disappear in front of her, she’ll believe you and it’ll be like the last couple minutes hadn’t happened. You can go back to living a normal life.”

“I don’t want a normal life. I want to hunt, kill baddies, and hold your hand.” Dean says, turning the ignition. He can’t believe he got so hung up on Cassie, “I want to send a demon to hell and get to kiss you afterward. But none of that even matters, because for the last twenty-five years you’ve only paid attention to what I want. Well, it’s your turn, buddy. What do you want?”

Laughing, Cas squeezes his knee, “I want you to hit the gas pedal and get us out of here.”

“Consider it done.” Dean presses the pedal to the floor, enjoying the smell of burning rubber.

They spend a couple quiet minutes on the road, then Cas asks, “Where are we going?”

“My dad needs help on a hunt.” Dean chuckles at Castiel’s bluntness.

“Does he know about me yet?” Cas ponders, then answers his own question. “No. Not until the vampire nest.”

“Vampire nest?” Dean repeats, surprised. “I didn’t know vampires existed.”

“They have been hunted so intensively and become so rare they might as well be extinct,” Cas replied, looking at Dean with a gummy smile. “The alpha vampire will eventually use his psychic connection to encourage other vampires to focus on increasing their numbers. In a decade, there will be a multitude of them.”

Dean processes the information, “That’s horrible.”

“Actually, some vampires subsist on animal blood. They live on a non-human diet.” Cas shrugs. “I actually think you go on a hunt in a few years that pertains to the start of this movement. Vampires have empathy, Dean. These groups of vegetarian vampires cause no harm and help hunters. You even befriend one in the future. His name is Benny.”

He can’t imagine becoming friends with a monster. “I have a vampire friend named Benny?”

“He’s not my favorite of your acquaintances,” Cas admits, “But he’s good.”

“Why are you telling me this?” He has to ask, maybe it’ll stop the flow of information, but he needs to know.

Cas sighs, looking out the window, “Because I can’t explain vampires to you when John finds out about me. He’ll be too focused on his mission, and I’ll be watched closely. I have to tell you now because when I try to in the future, John shoots me in the head. It’s traumatic for you, I imagine. But it has to happen. Don’t be mad at him for this, it’s part of the timeline.”

Dean stomps on the brakes, skidding off the road. “My dad kills you?!”

“No, my love,” Cas says, calmly. “He just tries to. Now, pull back onto the road. We almost crashed.”

"I'm not going to be able to drive after you drop a bombshell like that." Dean shouts, "My dad shoots you, this isn't cool. I'm shaking."

 

"I'll survive." Cas brushes it off, "Let's get back to more pressing matters. John needs help on a hunt. What is it?"

 

"He, uh, he didn't tell me," Dean says, still worked up. Reluctantly pulling back on the road, "But he gave me coordinates and told me to be prepared."

 

"What are the coordinates?" Cas asks, grabbing the phone Dean tosses to him. He presses the combination and goes to the voicemail. He grabs the map Dean keeps in the glove compartment, and writes down the longitudes and latitudes. "North thirty-five degrees point five thousand, nine hundred and fifty-one minutes. West eighty-two degrees point five thousand, five hundred and fifteen minutes. Well, if I've done this right, looks like Asheville North Carolina."

 

"North Carolina?" A terrible image pops into his mind, he brushes it off. "Great."

 

"Bad experience?" Cas looks over at him curiously.

 

"Hunt went wrong," He shrugged, trying to downplay the accident.

 

Cas presses, "What happened?"

 

Dean really didn't want to talk about it, the memories were too traumatizing, but this was Cas, and he'd never kept secrets from him. "I guess it starts with Dad hunting a werewolf, not able to drop us off anywhere since it was so last minute. I was fourteen, still in my awkward phase of excepting myself. I actually didn't come to terms with my sexuality until two years later, all I knew what that I liked you. Anyway, this wasn't your typical monster mash. No, this was different."

"How so?"Castiel asked, voice soft as he looked at Dean.

"The werewolf wasn't sticking to the normal rules, he was sexually assaulting the people he murdered." Dean felt chills form on his arms.  

 Sympathetically, Cas pats his arm. "That must've been terrible to witness. Those poor girls."

"It wasn't girls, Cas." Dean corrects, "It was male on male rape."

 

"Oh," Cas nods, still comforting him. "I'm sorry you had to see that at such a young age."

 

He sighed, finally getting to the meat of the problem. "I didn't see it, Cas. _Thankfully_. Dad left me in the car to watch Sammy, and when he came back he wouldn't shut up about what a monster the werewolf was. And it wasn't because of the murder or the rape, it was because the werewolf chose males."

 

"Dean—"

 

He reaches out to touch and Dean waves him off, "That was just the beginning of the hunt. It hurt my feelings, yeah, but John was always saying shit like that."

 

"That doesn't make it okay," Cas reminds, settling his hand on Deans shoulder.

 

"Yeah, fine, but it wasn't what turned me off from North Carolina," Dean said, relaxing with the warmth of Castiel's hand seeping through his shirt and onto his skin. "Dad made me bait."

 

He doesn't say anything, just looks at Dean with what he can only describe as anger. "He made you bait? What happened?"

 

"It was— no. I didn't get raped, Cas. He said I wasn't good enough. He said— no, he didn't rape me. He just hurt me. He made me.." He can't say it. Cas wait patiently. Dean, with newfound determination, unbuttons his flannel and removes it. He peels his undershirt off so Cas can see the ugly mutilated skin where the werewolf scratched and scarified him. As he had grown, the scar had warped and was now serrated.

 

"I've seen this on your body before," Cas whispers, trailing a light finger over it. "I thought it was a normal hunter wound. I healed it before I even knew you."

 

"You healed it?" Dean smiles lightly, catching Castiel's fingers with his own. "Well, you already helped psychologically. The physical damage was the only thing left."

 

Cas looks like he's about to cry, happy tears blended with angry ones, "I love you, Dean. Never forget that."

 

"Dito," Dean discloses, blushing.

 

"Alright Patrick Swayze," Cas says, lightening the mood, "You could say _I love you, too._ " 

 

Dean chuckles, "And miss seeing you get a Ghost reference? No way."

 

"You forced me to watch it," Cas groans at the memory, and Dean wishes that was now, that he and Cas could watch a movie together. "Apparently Patrick Swayze is one of your teen crushes. Along with Clint Eastwood and Harrison Ford."

 

"Only downside to having a soulmate," Dean grumbles, blushing again, "They know all your secrets."

 

 

"Not all of them," Cas says sadly, touching the scar gently.

 

 

 

  

 **September 2008**  
_Dean is 29_

  
  
“I'm trying to come up with a theory here, okay, work with me.”

  
“Dean, we have a theory!”

 

“Yeah, one with a little less fairy dust on it, please!”

 

“Okay, look. I know you're not all choirboy about this stuff, but this is becoming less and less about faith and more and more about proof.” Sam has his puppy dog face on, coupled with an arm cross and his classic Sammy overdramatic chagrin.

 

Dean laughs, crossing his arms back, “Proof? Proof that there's a God out there that actually gives a crap about me personally? I'm sorry, but I'm not buying it.”

 

“Why the hell not?” Sam asks earnestly. “For once, this isn't just another round of demon crap. I mean, you were saved by one of the good guys, you know. Bobby has got stacks of lore— Biblical, pre-Biblical. Some of it's in damn cuneiform. This isn’t out of the range of possibilities, Dean.”

 

“Why me? If there is a God out there, why would he give a crap about me?” His voice raised.

 

An understanding passed over Sam’s face, he reaches out. “Dean—”

 

He doesn’t let Sammy even attempt to console him. Instead, he keeps talking like he didn’t hear Sam say his name. “I mean, I've saved some people, okay? I figured that made up for the stealing and the ditching chicks. But why do I deserve to get saved? I'm just a regular guy.”

“Apparently, you're a regular guy that's important to the man upstairs.” Standing off to the side, Bobby hasn’t said a word the entire time. Dean wonders if he’s filling in the pieces that Sam is conveniently not matching together; like the fact that the angel he saw last night looks scarily similar to that guy he’d caught in Dean’s bed years ago. And for Sam, the fact that Cas is literally the shortened form of Castiel.

 

“Well, that creeps me out. I mean, I don't like getting singled out at birthday parties, much less by God.”

 

“Okay, well, too bad, Dean, because I think he wants you to strap on your party hat.”

 

Bobby picks up a pile of fat and heavy looking books and puts them in front of him, they shake the table with their weight. “This is all the lore I’ve got on angels, God, and everything in between. If you’re suddenly God’s favorite, you need to start reading.”

 

Dean grimaces at the pile of books and turns towards Sam. “You're gonna get me some pie.”

 

It had been three days since he'd seen Castiel, the one with sharp eyes and a cold voice. It had taken more out of him than he realized, Castiel not knowing who he was. At least when Castiel had first traveled back to him he had known of Dean, but this was different. This was like a hot air balloon without the hot air or a rifle without the bullets. Useless, this Castiel was useless. And for some reason, Cas thought Dean would be happy with a man wearing his face but having no memory of Dean.

 

He has a feeling Sam knows who Castiel is, he's the same Cas that has been their childhood friend and Dean's soulmate. But theirs still a sliver of a possibility he hasn't put the pieces together yet, and it's hard to gauge how the sasquatch is going to act with the information. Especially when Castiel burned out Pamalas eyes with no remorse, or at least the current Castiel didn't care. _His_ Cas had shown empathy.

 

* * *

 

  
It takes approximately ten seconds for Bobby to figure out something wrong.

Lights flicker and his breath becomes visible. Ghosts, his brain supplies.

He hears laughter and walks towards the noise, grabbing an iron poker from the fireplace. The lights flicker and the radio starts playing up. Bobby watched as a ball bounces down the stairs. He couldn’t tell if this was reality or a convoluted dream.

Whatever had been going on with the other hunters was apparently happening here. Some of his hunter buddies, Jed, Carl Bates, R.C. Adams, and Olivia all dead. He remembers the gruesome sight-- blood, broken glass, salt thrown on the floor, a gun lying beside a body, which is bloody and has had its chest ripped out.  
When the ball stops at the bottom he turns and sees two small girls, very much alike, staring at him.

Before he can even think about the girls, who they are and why they’d want to kill him, the slightly smaller one shoves her hands right through his chest and clenches around his heart. Fighting for a breath, Bobby manages to tear himself away and run for the living room where the closest piece of iron is located.

  
“Get back,” Bobby pants, grabbing the fire poker. He nearly jumps out of his skin when the phone rings.

 

* * *

 

  
“Damn it, Bobby! Pick up!” Dean scowls at his phone, looking over to a drowsy Sam who has a jagged shallow cut on his forehead. He swears to himself, the kid probably has a concussion. “How are you feeling, huh? How many fingers am I holding up?”

  
“None. I'll be fine, Dean.” Sam answers groggily, “Just pay attention to the road.”

  
Dean bites his lips, eyes focusing on driving. “Henriksen?”

“Yep.”

“Why? What did he want?”

Sam’s head lulls back onto the headrest. “Revenge, 'cause we got him killed.”

He’s had enough of this blame, martyring, no self-preservation shit from Sam, he squeezes his knuckles until they’re white around the steering wheel. “All right. Stop right there. Whatever the hell is going on, it's happening to us now, okay? I can't get ahold of Bobby, so if you're not thinking answers, don't think at all.”

It takes an accumulated amount of minutes before he’s pulling into the salvage yard, spending most of it awkwardly ignoring Sam’s hurt expression. They enter the house, guns cocked and ready. They look around the foyer, not seeing anything.

“Bobby?” Dean calls, seeing the iron poker on the ground and feels panic building in his chest. He nudges Sam, then gestures to the stairs. “I'll go up. You check outside.”

He walks up the steps, being careful to avoid the squeaky one Bobby never fixed. Once he reaches the top he begins to search; first his old room, then Sammy's, and finally Bobby's old master bedroom with an attached en-suite.

"Bobby?" Dean says softly, walking up to the closed door of the bathroom.

He hears a noise that sounds like a crossover between crunching dry leaves and chewing loud potato chips. The door slowly creeps open without his guidance, and he sees no one, his mouth opens to taunt. "Come out, come out, whoever you are!"

An easily recognizable voice sing songs from behind him. It sends him into a flashback of his brother and himself being tied up in a lofty warehouse. Fucking Meg, he thinks in disdain. "Dean Winchester. Still so bossy. You don't recognize me?"

His eyebrows raised in confusion as he lays eyes on her, this is not the demon he remembers. Instead of a short-haired, viperous, bleach blonde, he sees a delicate rose with long locks and Bambi eyes. “What's with the new look?"

“This is what I looked like before she cut off my hair and dressed me like a slut.”

"What?" Dean tilts his head. It's a trait he picked up from Cas. " I don't understand."

"I can clear things up for you if you like." She smirks-frowns. Stepping closer to Dean, Meg runs a seductive hand between her scantily clad breasts. The act causes her dress front to move down and expose her goosebump covered flesh. "I'm not a demon."

“You're the girl the demon possessed.”

“Meg Masters. Nice to finally talk to you when I'm not, you know, choking on my own blood.” She holds out her hand to shake.

When Dean doesn’t recuperate the gesture, she laughs. “It's okay. Seriously, I'm just a college girl. Sorry— was. I was walking home one night and got jumped by all this smoke. Next thing you know, I'm a prisoner in my own head. I was awake, you know? I had to watch while she murdered people.”

“I'm sorry,” Dean says as empathetic as possible.

Her sweet face turns sour. “Oh, yeah? So sorry you had me thrown off a building?”

“Well, we thought—”

She laughs, hard and bitter. “No, you didn't think! I kept waiting, praying! I was trapped in there screaming at you! "Just help me, please!" You're supposed to help people, Dean. Why didn't you help me?”

“We didn't know you were still alive,” Dean tries to explain, shaking his head. He pushes away the guilt building up in his chest. “I know that doesn't matter now, you think it's too late and you've come to punish me. Is that right?”

Meg’s eyes like slits, she bares her teeth. “I had a little sister. A girl that looked up to me like I had rainbows shooting out of my ass, I bet you know how that feels. She was my Sammy, you could say. Well, thanks to that demon bitch and the Winchesters, she'll never see her big sister again. I'm not going to punish you because of the tortured I went through, but for her. I'm going to rip open your rib cage and think of her smiling the entire time. Do you even know what you did to her?”

“No,” Dean answers, firing his gun. The salt sprays into Meg’s body, she screams and disappears. “But the monologue was helpful.”

He tries to run off, instead, her sharp fingernails dig into his shoulder. It connects with the red handprint, making him shiver. “I asked if you knew what happened to her, what you caused? She killed herself. Because of you, Dean. Because all you were thinking about was your family, your revenge, and your demons! Fifty words of Latin a little sooner and I'd still be alive. My baby sister would still be alive. That blood is on your hands, Dean. And now there will be blood on mine.”

  
She flings him back, the gun flies out of his hands. He's on the floor, groaning. “I'm sorry.”

  
“Oh, you're sorry?” She pretends to look shocked. “Well then, I guess all your crimes are forgiven. One little apology makes up for all your sins.”

“I'm so sorry, Meg.” He says again. Crawling slowly over to the abandoned rifle. She doesn't notice, but he's almost got it. “We did the best we could.”

Meg kicks him in the stomach, practically forcing him on the gun. He grabs it quickly, pointing it towards her. She laughs, crossing her arms. It showcases a symbol carved, no, branded into her skin. He studies it, trying to burn it into his memory. “The best you could? That's rich.”

“It's the truth,” Dean says, cocking the gun.

Her eyes glint. “Go ahead, shoot me. Blast me with salt. You saw how well that worked last time.”

“I'm not shooting you.” Dean aims his gun and shoots at the ceiling. A chandelier falls and lands on her. Even though she's gone, he feels the need to say, “Iron.”

Struggling to stands up, Dean limps down the stairs. His stomach lurching every step he takes, he rests at the bottom. Head leaning back on the wall, his only motivation to move is making sure Sam was all right. And Bobby, although he had more faith in the old hunter to keep himself out of trouble. Walking into the living room, he's pleasantly surprised to see Sam and Bobby standing in the middle.

His happiness doesn't stay long when he sees the bleeding gash along Bobby’s side. “How’d you get that cut, Bobby?”

“Someone from my past.” He grunts, eyes sweeping over Dean's own injuries. “How about yourself?”

Sammy’s eyes widen as he takes in Dean's beaten up appearance. “What the hell happened to you up there, Dean?”

“Meg.” He says, expecting the bitchface Sammy throws his way. He jumps in before Sam can, “The girl, not the demon possessing her.”

“Henriksen, Meg, those little girls of Bobby’s,” Sam names them off, then says, “So, they're all people we know?”

Biting his lip, Dean corrects. “Not just know. People we couldn't save. Hey, I saw something on Meg. Did she have a tattoo or a, uh, brand when she was alive?”

“Not that I remember,” Sam says, then his face lights up. “A brand you say? I saw a mark, too, on Henriksen. Maybe there's something more going on behind these spirits.”

Bobby speaks up, hand pressed against his wound. “What did it look like?”

“Uh, paper?” Sam looks around, Dean finding it first. He takes offered paper and starts sketching the mark. He holds the drawing up for Dean to compare. Its the exact same design he’d seen on Meg.

“That's it.” He confirms.

Bobby examined it, “I may have seen this before. We got to move.”

“Whoa.” Sam raises his eyebrows. “It’s that bad?”

Rolling his eyes, Bobby gruffs out, “Follow me.”

“Okay, where are we going?” Sam wraps his arm around Bobby’s waist for support. It helps a little, his body like a human crutch.

“Someplace safe, ya idjit.” Bobby sasses, picking up some books and leads Sam and Dean to a basement room, which is made entirely of iron and covered with pentagrams and Devil's traps. “Don't tell anybody about this place, okay? I'll have to kill you otherwise. It's solid iron. Completely coated in salt. One hundred percent ghost-proof.”

Dean can't keep the grin off his face, “You built a panic room?”

Looking flustered, “I had a weekend off.”

He slaps his hand on Bobby's shoulder. “Bobby?”

“What?” Bobby asks, confused.

“You're awesome.” He pats him, then turns to explore. His eyes are immediately drawn to a poster of a swimsuit model. He wiggled his eyebrows to an unimpressed Sam and embarrassed Bobby. “Oh, man. We found Bobby's porn stash. Beware of cobwebs.”

“Shut it, boy,” Bobby grumbles, walking over to the desk in the corner. “I'll still take you over my knee. Besides, I need to look for this brand you both saw.”

“Don't you miss the old day? When everything was a simple salt and burn.” Sam sits on the dusty cot, a reminiscing expression on his face. He fiddles with a loose string. “I miss when ghosts were just ghosts. They had no extra clause, just a straightforward solution.”

“Maybe,” Dean kind of agreed, “But that would've gotten dull after the hundredth time.”

“Who cares if the hunt is boring, at least it's safer.” Sam raises his voice. Then looks down sheepishly at Bobby”s glare, he continues. Topic successfully changed. “I know you don't believe in this God stuff, but Dean I really wish you’d keep an open mind.”

Sighing, Dean looks away. This wasn't something he wanted to get into with Sam. “Don't you get it, Sammy? This is one of the reasons why I can't get behind God.”

“What are you talking about?” Sam asked, face pinched.

“If he doesn't exist, fine. Bad crap happens to good people. That's how it is. There's no rhyme or reason— just random, horrible, evil— I get it, okay. I can roll with that. But if he is out there, what's wrong with him? Where the hell is he while all these decent people are getting torn to shreds? How does he live with himself? You know, why doesn't he help?” Dean rants, not allowing himself to look at Sam’s face. “If God is real and wants me on his team, why the fuck would he let that yellow-eyed demon kill mom and dad? If he wants me to be his angel in the outfield, why would he put me through so shot before the big recruitment?”

Muttering from the corner, Bobby flips to the next page in his book. “I ain't touching this one with a ten-foot pole."

“Yeah.” Dean hears himself, wincing at the smugness.

Bobby interrupts his self-hatred, "Found it."

"Found what?" Sam asks, walking closer to the man.

He flips the book open, pointing at a picture, "The symbol you saw— the brand on the ghosts."

Interested, Dean comes over too. "Yeah?"

"Mark of the Witness," Bobby explains, noticing their confusion. "They're witnesses of the unnatural. None of them died what you'd call ordinary deaths. See, these ghosts— they were forced to rise. They woke up in agony. They were like rabid dogs. It ain't their fault. Someone rose them on purpose."

"Who?" Sam questions.

Bobby gives him a patient glance, "Do I look like I know? But whoever it was used a spell so powerful it left a mark, a brand on their souls. Whoever did this had big plans. It's called "the rising of the witnesses." It figures into an ancient prophecy."

"Wait, wait. What— what book is that prophecy from?" Dean asks, unclear.

"Well, the widely distributed version's just for tourists, you know. But long story short— Revelations." Bobby tosses the book back on the table. "This is a sign, boys."

"A sign of what?" Sam orders.

"The apocalypse." 

 

Dean laughs abruptly, not convinced. This wasn't possible. "Apocalypse? The apocalypse, apocalypse? The four horsemen, pestilence, $5-a-gallon-gas apocalypse?"

 

Bobby nods, seriously. "That's the one. The rise of the witnesses is a mile marker."

 

"Okay, so, what do we do now?" Sam believes this garbage. Dean looks at them in shock. 

 

"If this was the end of the world," Dean precursors it, "Road trip. Grand Canyon, Star Trek Experience. Bunny Ranch."

 

Sam glares at him, "Can't you take anything seriously?"

 

"Not really." Dean shrugs, 

 

Clearing his throat, Bobby regains their attention. "First things first. How about we survive our friends out there?"

 

Now that's an idea he can get behind. "Great. Any ideas aside from staying in this room until Judgment Day?"

 

"It's a spell to send the witnesses back to rest. Should work." Bobby re-reads the text a couple of times, murmuring to himself. "If I translate it correctly. I think I got everything we need here at the house."

 

"How about in this room?" Sam asks, looking around at the sparse tube. "I don't see a lot of ingredients."

 

"How lucky do you think we're going to get?" Bobby grunts, "Spell's got to be cast over an open fire."

 

"The fireplace in the library." 

 

"Bingo," Bobby says, gathering his supplies.

 

They prepare to leave the panic room, grabbing all of the ingredients stored here, eventually making their way out of e room, and head towards the stairs. It's quiet, too quiet for the tense atmosphere. Stepping into the living room, Sam creates a salt circle and Dean starts the fire. Bobby recites some Latin words and the windows blow open and a wind fills the room. The wind moves the salt and suddenly they're vulnerable.

 

Meg appears and Sam quickly shoots at her, as Bobby continues to recite the spell. But then she knocks Sam's gun away and throws him against the wall.

 

Panicked for his younger brother, Dean moves towards them. "Sam!"

 

Sam shouts back, limp on the floor. "Cover Bobby!"

As he runs to Sam, who landed next to the fireplace, he hears a gurgled scream as Meg plunges a hand into Bobby's back. Bobby tosses the bowl with spell ingredients, throwing them perfectly to Dean. With a small amount of breath, he manages to yell, "Dean! Fireplace!"

 

With gusto, Dean plops the bowl in the fire, which turns blue.  Just as Meg is about to rip Bobby's heart out, he completes the spell and the spirits vanish.

 

They all have a beer, celebrating the success or wallowing in the grief of seeing people they couldn't save, Dean didn't know what was true. Sitting in Bobby's living room, the moon above them and darkness flooding through the window. Bobby stands up, still weak from the fight, and calls it a night. "I better go to bed and ice this thing, you boys going to stay down here or go up to your rooms?"

 

"Stay down here," Dean answers, stretching out on the couch and finishing off his drink.

 

Sam thumps him on his arm, "I get the couch this time."

 

"Fine," Dean groans, setting up camp on the floor. "Too tired to argue. Just wanna go to sleep."

 

Bobby rolls his eyes at their antics, "Have a good sleep, boys. And, um, thanks for helping me out with the girls. They almost ganked me."

 

"Of course, Bobby," Sam says, encouragingly. "You always help us, so it's time we repay the favor."

 

"Alright, enough of the mushy shit," He shakes his head, voice gruff. "I'm going to bed."

 

Sam and Dean stay awake longer, settling into their sleeping arrangments but making small talk. Sam talks about things Dean doesn't particularly care about, but he listens anyway. Then, when the conversation pauses, Dean talks about missing Cas. He never really divulged his relationship with Cas to Sam, but now in the darkness and comfortability, he spews out his feelings. Somehow, in the ten minutes of taking hold of the conversation, he's realized he's not even talking to Sam anymore. The kid is fast asleep, snoring into his pillow. 

 

Laughing at Sam's inability to stay away, Dean snuggles further into his make-shift bed and closes his eyes. It doesn't take long for sleep to take him as well.

 

Then, like no time has passed, he wakes up. Castiel's presence curled around him. He checks on Sam, sees he is asleep and walks over to join Castiel in the kitchen.

 

"Excellent job with the witnesses." He sounds robotic, young, so confident yet no reason to be. Dean can't take him seriously.

 

Dean scoffs at the uneasy compliment, "Thanks a lot for the angelic assistance. You know, I almost got my heart ripped out of my chest."

 

"I'm not here to perch on your shoulder," Cas growls, stepping closer to him. "We had other concerns."

 

Not the slight bit deterred, Dean says, "Concerns? There were people getting torn to shreds down here! And, by the way, while all this is going on, where the hell is your boss, huh, if there is a God?"

 

"My father is real," Castiel says, convicted, "There is a God. Have faith."

 

"I'm not convinced. 'Cause if there's a God, what the hell is he waiting for, huh? Genocide? Monsters roaming the earth? The freaking apocalypse? At what point does he lift a damn finger and help the poor bastards that are stuck down here?" When Castiel remains quiet, Dean jumps onto another topic, "Was Bobby was right... about the witnesses?This is some kind of a sign of the apocalypse."

 

"The rising of the witnesses is one of the sixty-six seals."

 

"Okay. I'm guessing that's not a show at Seaworld." Dean jokes.

 

Castiel ignores him, "Those seals are being broken by Lilith."

 

"She did the spell. She rose the witnesses." He mutters, understanding coursing through his veins. Then, "but we put the spirits back to rest."

 

"It doesn't matter. The seal was broken." Castiel shares.

 

Dean curses, all that for nothing. "Why break the seal, then?"

 

"You think of the seals as locks on a door." He explains, looking at Dean with a cool gaze. "The last one opens and Lucifer walks free."

 

"Lucifer?" Dean says the name without understanding the ending. "The actual morning star, pitchfork, and horns, the devil? I  thought he was just a Sunday school story for baby demons? There's no such thing."

 

Castiel purses his lips, sparks in his eyes, "You're very confusing, Dean Winchester. Three days ago, you thought there was no such thing as me. Lucifer _is_ real and the apocalypse is now."

 

"If the apocalypse is now," Dean pauses, then steps close to Castiel. He sees the angel look at him, perplexed. It sends a thrill up his spine. "Stellar work with the witnesses."

 

With no discomfort, Castiel tilts his head toward Dean it becomes insanely intimate. Their lips are almost touching, noses brush and Dean lets out a whimper. 

 

"You think the armies of Heaven should just follow you around? There's a bigger picture here and I'll not be your dog. You should show me some respect. I dragged you out of Hell. I can throw you back in." Castiel vanishes in a flutter of wings, leaving Dean alone panting in the kitchen. He wakes up with a wet spot on the front of his underwear, embarrassed he sits up and looks around Bobby's living room. Sam is still asleep, snoring softly. The sun hasn't risen yet and the room has a crispness to it. 

  

He flinches at he remembers Castiel's harsh words, trying to picture his Cas's charming smile and courteous face.

 

The more he learned about this Castiel, the more he didn't like him. He wished with all his being that his Cas would show up and save the day.

 

Nothing happened.

 

 

 

 


	8. Things don't come naturally

**May 2017**

_Dean is 38_

 

Dean hadn't genuinely believed it, the whole alternate dimension thing. Stepping through the freaky lightning bolt with two Castiel's hot on his heels, Dean squinted at the weirdly muted world. It felt like purgatory, with the deliciously supernatural air about it. Cas had his hand securely wrapped around Dean's waist, sending smug looks at his younger counterpart at every chance. Then Bobby was there, not knowing who they were, unfortunately. He claimed that this was a world where Sam and Dean had never been born, Cas squeezing him in conformation. 

 

Castiel watched them, inquisitive. He eventually says, "Dean, you don't have to worry. The child, he opened this door. He'll close it."

 

Scoffing, "You sure about that?"

 

"I have faith."

 

"Really? In your unborn baby-God?"

 

"Yes."

 

Dean feels his temper rising, "Well, then, you're a dumbass."

 

Bobby gestures to the portal, crashing their fight, "When this opened up, all sorts'a alarms went off back at my place. I got here just in time to see your boy get ambushed by a tempter demon."

 

"A what?" Dean asked, glancing at a poker-faced Cas.

 

Castiel replies instead, "It's, um, black eyes, pointed teeth, horns."

 

Sam throws up his arms, "Wait a second. Demons have horns now?"

 

Bobby sends a suspicious look between the two Castiel's, "Usually I gun down flyboys on sight. But, uh, he looked different. Wasn't wearing a necklace made out of baby ears, for one thing."

 

"We got to talking about where I came from and our two worlds," Castiel resumes, giving Bobby a fond look.

 

The old man nods, "From what he says, pretty much peaches and cream on your side."

 

They cross back over, leaving Bobby in the other world, Cas not having said one word since they had entered. When they step through, that immediately changes when Cas asks, "Are you all right?"

 

Grunting, Dean turns to face his angel. The one who has been with him all these years. Why did this feel like the end? Why was Cas making this feel like the end? He was going to get sent back, sure. That much was obvious, with present-day Cas finding out. But for some reason, Dean's stomach was rolling with worry. "No, Cas. Pretty far from all right. I mean, we've got Lucifer on this side, we've got Mad Max World on that side. I mean, yeah, we've been down before, but this? I-I mean, I don't even know where to start. I just want to—"

 

Crowley interrupts, having stayed on this side of the portal. "Sorry to split up the love confessions, but I think I might have a spell to shut the door."

 

Castiel looks up at the cottage, right at the window where Kelly is. "I have to go to her. You'll be good without me for a couple minutes?"

 

"Sure will," Cas mocks him, "Don't hurry back."

 

Dean elbows him when Cas is gone, "Be polite."

 

"It's a ritual," Crowley continues, "Lucifer is going to be here soon. We need to trick him into the rift. We do the ritual, we seal that rift, and we lock the Devil in this godforsaken place. That's the plan, alright? Two birds, one spell."

 

Cas finally peels himself from Dean, after a quick ass grab, and joins the program, "Let's do it. Lucifer will be here in about five minutes, you need to get the ingredients fast."

 

Crowley starts to teleport, but then looks at Cas, "Thanks, Feathers."

 

He disappears, leaving Dean, Sam, and Cas alone. Cas grabs both their hands, tugging. "Let's go to the front of the house. We need to wait for him."

 

"What about the other Cas?" Sam asks as they follow.

 

"Cas is helping Kelly, reassuring her really. Jack will be brilliant and she needs to focus." Cas replies as they get to the front. "He'll be down in time. No need to worry."

 

Dean stops short, looking at Cas, betrayed. "Wait. Are you on side antichrist too? What the fuck, man?"

 

"There are no sides within our ranks, just us against Lucifer," Cas says calmly. 

 

Squinting, "Are you being controlled by his mind whammy? Is that it?"

 

"No, my love." He sounds amused, " _Dean_ , Jack is good. Remember that."

 

Rolling his eyes, "Whatever."

 

Castiel comes running outside to them, "Mary's with Kelly. When will _he_ be here?"

 

"Three minutes, ten seconds," Cas answers, looking at himself in pity. It makes something swoop in Dean's chest. "We're luring him into the portal and then closing it."

 

"Got it," Castiel confirms. Then they're all awkwardly standing around.

 

Dean coughs, trying to alleviate the tension. "So."

 

The awkwardness amplifies. 

 

 

 

 **October 2008 and April 1973**  

_Dean is 29_

 

Dean wakes up with a start, becoming even more afraid when he sees the figure sitting on the bed.

 

"Hello, Dean. What were you dreaming about?" _Its just Castiel_ , Dean's brain supplies. He begins to relax, shoving the blankets off himself roughly.

 

"What, do you get your freak on by watching other people sleep?" He's not trying to be mean to the guy, but it's hard not to. This angel, who calls himself Castiel, is almost like an imposter. How did this terrifyingly annoying angel turn into the love of his life? "What do you want?"

 

Castiel's face skews up, "Listen to me. You have to stop it."

 

Concerned, Dean attempts to touch the angel, to comfort him, "Stop what?"

 

Said angel doesn't notice his arm reaching out, he simply puts two fingers to Dean's forehead.

 

It takes him about ten minutes to realize Cas flung him back in time. It just didn't make sense. There's his Dad, John Winchester in all his glory talking up a storm to the diner guy. He even bought Dean a coffee. With as much sleuthing as possible, Dean follows him out of the restaurant and then as he turns a corner, Dean bumps into Cas. Not his Cas, but the one who put him here in the first place. 

 

Sharply, "What is this?" 

 

  
Cas stands stoic, "What does it look like?

 

Gritting his teeth, "Is it real?" 

 

"Very."

 

 _This was the most frustrating thing ever_. All his life, he thought Cas traveling through time was an anomaly. He thought it was some kind of soulmate phenomenon. This was bringing a light to things he didn't want to think about. Why would Cas keep this a secret? Had he been lied to his whole life? Fighting back the tears springing to his eyes, Dean puts on a brave face, "Okay, so what? Angels got their hands on some DeLoreans? How did I get here?"  
  
  
Castiel looks deep into his eyes, with no emotion on his face, "Time is fluid, Dean. It's not easy, but we can bend it on occasion."   
  
  
Dean's beginning to get angry, "Well bend it back or tell me what the hell I'm doing here!"  
  
Castiel remains indifferent, "I told you, you have to stop it." 

  
"Stop what? Huh? What, is there something nasty after my Dad?" Dean turns as a car horn sounds, stealing his attention away. When he turns back, Castiel is gone. "Oh, come on! What, are you allergic to straight answers, you son of a bitch?!"

 

He does end up stalking John to a car dealership, keeping an eye on him in case there is a big bad he needs to take out. After basically picking out the Impala for John ("Trust me, this thing's still gonna be badass when it's 40.") and seeing the early courtship of his parents, Dean follows them to a restaurant where they flirt and act like total idiots in love, sipping milkshakes. His cheeks hurt from smiling, this is how his parents were before the fire.

 

Cas materializes next to him, watching Mary and John tease each other and John fiddle with an engagement ring when Mary goes to the bathroom. He knows immediately it's his Cas, not the Spock version that he's growing to dislike. They lean into each other and Cas caresses his side, everything is perfect. He looks at the ring and grins, it's Mary's ring alright. The thing survived the fire, they found it in one of John's thousands of storage buildings. Dean didn't tell Sam but he's kept the ring tucked safely at Bobby's under the guest mattress, pulling it out to ogle when the Sasquatch drifts off to sleep. 

 

He winces slightly, remembering his earlier convictions. "Cas, I jumped back in time. How? I thought you said you can't control it."

 

"I can't," Cas replies, remote, "There is a greater force at work with me. Somehow I've been cursed to always leave you. It's different than ordinary time-travel, which the angels have perfected. I'm dealing with something far more powerful. I haven't lied to you, Dean, and I haven't betrayed you. Do you believe me?"

 

"Yes, baby," Dean sighs satisfied, "I'm sorry I'm so paranoid. It's just, this new Cas is awful. He's aloof and stoic. He treats us like dirt."

 

"He doesn't understand free will," Cas assures, placidly. "He doesn't realize he loves you yet, but he will soon."

 

They continue to look at John's apprehensive face, blundering with the ring and the small red box.

 

"Why are you following us?"

 

They both turn around, jolted. Mary knees him in the stomach and throws him against the building, it knocks the wind out of him. She goes to punch Cas but he dodges it, stepping sideways. Cas manages to grab her limbs and pull her into an arm lock, she wiggles around like crazy. Unbelievably pissed at being caught so easily. 

  
Dean lets out a wheeze, "Are you crazy?"

 

"You've been trailing us since my house." She grunts, managing to get loose and strike Cas in the face. She pulls her hand back and gapes at it. "You have a very hard head."

 

Cas pinches his bleeding nose, "Your fingers look broken, allow me to—"

 

"Shut up, Cas." Dean interferes before Cas exposes his magic healing powers, grabbing Marry and holding her against the wall. "Okay, how about we talk about this, huh?"

 

"Let me go!" She barks, exposing her wrist. Dean sees the bracelet she's wearing, cloaked with protective charms. It astonishes him.

 

  
He takes a deep breath, "Are you a hunter?"

 

"What's it to you?" She wiggles again, trying to get free. "If I say yes are you going to kill me?"

 

"No," Cas answers, tactfully. "I'm Cas and he's Dean. We're hunters as well. Simply, we thought something was after you and your boyfriend."

 

Mary gradually stops squirming and Dean lets her go.

 

She faces them, squaring her shoulders. "What kind of something?"

 

"How about we meet you at your house?" Dean suggests, backing away. "We'll tell you everything there."

 

She dubiously agrees, "Fine. Follow us with your car. I'll see you there."

 

Dean waits until she's safely into the Impala with John before he and Cas start tailing them. The sky a beautiful ocherous color as the sun sank lower and dipped below the horizon. The heat of the day ebbing into a cool caress of the night, he rolls up the stolen car's window and shuts off the fan. Cas touches his knee, comfortingly. 

 

They pull a few yards away from the Impala, getting out of their car and hiding around the side of the house.

 

Close enough to catch his parents parting words, Dean grins, dopily.

 

He hears John ask, "See you later?"

 

Mary smirks, teasingly. It reminds Dean of himself. "If you're lucky."

 

They kiss and she gets out of the car. The Impala speeds off with a rich purr, Dean stares after it longingly. As she approaches the house Dean and Cas join her, seeing the cautious look surround her face. They stand on the porch silently, Mary looking them over suspiciously. "Dean and Cas, right? Listen, I'm not sure you should come in. The thing is, my Dad, he's a little, um—" 

 

"We've got to meet him," Dean says, earnestly.

 

She raises her eyebrows, "Oh? You've heard of him?"

 

"Clearly not enough."

 

Samuel is sitting at the table when they all walk in. Mary clears her throat, getting him to look up. He narrows his eyes, "What's this? Some kind of pow-wow?"

 

"No, Dad," Mary pauses, gesturing to them, "This is Dean and Cas. They're hunters and we ran into each other tonight."

 

"So, you're hunters?" Samuel asks mockingly, looking at Dean, "Well, tell me something, mister hunter, you kill vampires with wooden stakes or silver?"

  
Dean smirks, "Neither, you cut their heads off."

 

He sees Mary smile. Pride fills his chest.

 

"How about you?" Samuel proposes Cas, "What's your deal, Poindexter? You look more like an accountant than a hunter."

 

"Better to deceive the monsters if I look less threatening," Cas says, shrugging. "But I've killed four Wendigos on my own before. At once."

 

  
"So, did we pass your test?" Dean asks, beaming.

 

Samuel glares, nodding. "Yep. Now get out of my house. I don't trust other hunters, don't want their help, and don't want them around my family."

 

A dainty older woman walks into the room, she swats the back of his head. "Knock it off, Samuel."

 

"They're hunters," Samuel says blankly.

 

"Who passed your little pop quiz, and now I am inviting them to dinner." She states defiantly. "Are you two hungry?"

 

"Starving," Dean replies for them.

 

"Good. I'm Deanna, you've met my husband Samuel," She smiles pleasantly, nodding towards the kitchen, "I just cooked some pot roast. Will you stay?"

 

"Yes," Cas accepts, taking her hand in his and squeezing it. "You're a very generous woman. I thank you for allowing us into your home. Your soul is very bright."

 

"Great," Samuel mutters beneath his breath. "A goddamn hippy."

 

Deanna looks confused but she returns the display, "Thank you, Cas. I really appreciate that."

 

They all sit at the dining room table and eat dinner. It's wonderful pot roast, he groans in approval. First home cooked meal in years. He wolfs it down.

 

Deanna leans over and touches Dean's arm, motherly. She glances at Cas. "First time in Lawrence? I haven't seen you two around before."

 

"Well, it's been a while. Things sure have changed." Dean eats another forkful. Tacking on, "I think."

 

Mary speaks up, "Hey, um, so why were you following me and John?"

 

  
"Mmm, I thought something was after your, um, boyfriend, but um, I don't think that anymore." Dean flounders, avoiding her questioning gaze.

 

  
Deanna laughs like a chiming bell, "John Winchester mixing it up with spirits, can you imagine?"

 

  
Samuel derides, shaking his head. "John's a really, really nice... naive civilian."

 

"You don't like him because he's a civilian?" Mary scowls, pointing at Cas and Dean, "So what? You'd rather me be with a guy like these two weirdos?"

 

"What?" Dean chokes on a piece of meat, "No, no. No. No, no, no. No."

 

Sighing, upset, Samuel denies, "Mary, of course not, it's just that I–"

 

Deanna interrupts, "That's enough, both of you, we have company."

 

"So, Samuel, you, uh, working a job?" Dean asks, awkwardly.

 

"Might be." He says indifferently. 

 

Mary smiles at Dean, divulging, "He's working a job on the Whitshire Farm."

 

Samuel gives Mary a nasty look as Dean clears his throat. "Whitshire, why does that name sound familiar to me?"

 

"Well, it's been all over the papers. Tom Whitshire. Got tangled up in a combine a few towns over." Samuel finally confesses.

 

"That kind of thing happens." Cas says sadly, "I'll be praying for his family."

 

Samuel ignores Cas and continues, "Sure it happens, but why was he on it in the first place when his crops are all dead?"

 

"Demonic omens?" Dean asks, now interested.

 

"That's what I gotta find out." Samuel takes a large bite of beef. 

 

He pries, "What about the rest of the town? Well, did you find anything on the web? ...Of information that you have assembled."

 

  
"Electrical storms maybe." Samuel says, "The weather service graphs should be here on Friday."

 

Dean nods to himself then prods Cas with his elbow, "You know, it sounds to me like we might be hunting the same thing. You know if we go in there in numbers, we could take care of this real quick."

 

"What part of _we work alone_ do you not understand, son?" Samuel chuckles, looking at the two of them and calculating. "You boys are strange and I think I know why."

 

Cas finally looks intrigued, he puts his fork down and tilts his head. "What do you think?"

 

"You're queer, right?" Samuel asks, not disturbed. He actually sounds indifferent. "Its Kansas and you types usually don't leave the big cities, but you've got that certain air about you. Don't worry we aren't that sort of family, we won't disrupt your little pretend act or call the police. Hell, half of the stuff us hunters do is outside of the law."

 

Was homosexuality against the law? He forgot how backward the country use to be. Grateful, Dean grabs Cas's hand, "Yeah, we're together. We weren't trying to flaunt it."

 

Deanna smiles grievously at them, "My brother is gay. I might not understand your lifestyle but I won't condemn you for it."

 

"Yeah," Mary joins in, sticking up for Dean, her son, without even knowing it. "Uncle Marty is cool."

 

"Don't worry boys," Samuel looks kind of amused, "I can see the fear in your eyes, but it's not necessary."

 

"That's very liberal thinking, Mr. Cambell," Cas complemented. "Especially for the early seventies in such a primitive state like Kansas."

 

Samuel actually looked modest, Deanna patting his arm, "Well, we did live in the big city for a few years. San Francisco. They had one of those gay parades and we visited it."

 

Dean almost cries at the relief he feels. Some of his family, even if unknowingly, actually excepts him. He resentfully thinks of John and glowers mentally. He wonders how Mary even wound up with the man when they were so fundamentally different. 

 

 

**October 2007**

_Dean is 28_

 

Walking into the diner, Dean catches Sam talking frantically on the phone. He walks up behind, catching Sam's attention and watching the kid quickly hang up. Dean lifts one eyebrow, skeptical, and sits down across from him. "Hey. Who was that?"

 

Sam shrugs, suspiciously. "Ah, I was just ordering pizza."

 

Dean glances around at their surroundings, "Dude, you do realize that you're in a restaurant? "

 

"Yeah. Yeah. Oh, yeah. I— just felt like pizza, you know?" Sam smiles, tight-lipped and reeking of insincerity.

 

" _O-kay_ , Weirdy Mcweirderton." Dean clears his throat, "So, I think I got something. Cicero, Indiana. Falls on his own power saw. "

 

Sam looks confused, "Is that all? One power saw? You think one accident is something supernatural?"

 

Sheepishly, "Uh, yeah."

 

"I don't know, Dean. I – I – " Sam sighs,  looking at the phone he had passively thrown down. "I was just talking to Bobby and we both agree, Dean. We need to focus on saving you, not following random hunts. Whatever case you think this might be, I'm sure Bobby's got a couple of hunter buddies he could send for us."

 

"All right, you caught me, there's something better in Cicero than just a case." Dean blurts out, deciding to come clean. Anything to stop the train wreck before him, Sam talking about saving him from his deal. He'd rather sell his soul one hundred times than listen to this crap.  "Lisa Braeden. Remember that road trip I took, uh— gosh, about eight years ago now? You were in Orlando with Dad wrapping up that banshee thing." 

 

Sam nods, smiling at the simple nostalgia it brings. "Yeah. Yeah, the five states in five-days." 

 

Laughing, "Yeah. Well, kind of. Although I spent most of my time in Lisa Braeden's loft."

 

"So let me get this straight. You want— you want to drive all the way to Cicero just to hook up with some random chick?"

 

"She was a yoga teacher. It was the bendiest weekend of my life. Come on. Have a heart, huh? It's my dying wish."

 

Sam shakes his head, exasperated. "Yeah, well, how many dying wishes are you gonna get?"

 

"As many as I can squeeze out." He winks, watching the mortification blossom on Sam's face.

 

It takes a while for them to get there, enough time for Dean to consider why he's going back to her after what happened the last time he was there.  Castiel, interrupting them mid-oral, professing his love for Dean. He sighs dreamily at the thought. Lisa was the only girl Castiel had ever gotten jealous with, and maybe it's been too long since he's last seen the angel. He's lonely, sue him. They've got a nice arrangement going on, Dean's not confined to waiting like a Virgin Mary for Cas until he's old and gray.

 

"The motel is off the next ramp," Sam informs, then goes back to his sudoku.

 

Dean grins, Lisa would be a welcome distraction.

 

Dropping the kid off at a motel, Dean drives excitedly to Lisa's. Outside a nicely kept suburban house, with festive balloons, Dean rings the doorbell. The door opens to a flushed and glowing Lisa, she hasn't aged a day. By now, she'd be in her late twenties, but she's still very fit and utterly gorgeous. Dean smiles awkwardly as Lisa stares at him in confusion for a moment, then recognizes him.

  
With a big smile, "Dean!" 

 

Flattered she remembers, "Lisa. How's it going?" 

 

She looks at him in wonder, overlooking his inquest. "Wow. So, uh, how long has it been?"

 

"Eight, going on nine years now. Crazy, right?" He looks into her brown eyes, wishing they were blue. 

 

Oh, well. As long as he got some, it didn't matter what color her eyes were. 

 

"Yeah. So, what are you doing here?" She asks, perplexed.

 

And before he can drop the bomb, the  _I-wanna-fuck-you_  bomb, someone walks up next to him. Someone he wasn't expecting for at least another month. Someone named Castiel. 

 

"Hello, Dean." Cas greets, then turns to Lisa and shakes her hand, "And hello to you, again, Lisa Braeden."

 

She laughs, looking at Cas in amusement, "You're the guy that barged in on us, weren't you?"

 

"Yes," Castiel agrees, looking at Dean will all his attention. "I arrived right behind you and I'm scheduled to leave tonight."

 

"Perfect," Dean frowns, seeing Lisa peer at them in anticipation. "Oh, excuse my manners. This is Cas, he's—"

 

"I'm his boyfriend." Cas interrupts. Awkwardly placing his hand on Dean's lower back, he stares undeviatingly into Lisa's eyes. "We love each other."

 

Dean feels his eyes widen, quaking at that words. Lisa opens her mouth then shuts it, repeating the motion dozens of times. It's like watching a machine malfunction, Castiel literally broke the girl he was going to have sex with. After a couple of tense seconds, she finally settles on a faint smile, "Dean I can't believe you never told me you're into men!"

 

There’s a satisfied smile playing around the edges of Cas's mouth.

 

"Well," Dean wants to get out of here, maybe crawl under a rock. "People weren't as open as they are now."

 

Lisa pats his arm, stepping to the side and motioning them in, "I'm having a party for my son. Please come in and we can catch up."

 

Being swirled into the backyard, hand firmly grasping Cas's, Dean spots him. Lisa's son, Ben, is like a carbon copy of himself. As he watches the kid hit on chicks, play with cars, rock to AC/DC, he feels a tightness form in his chest. Before it can grow unbearable, Cas pulls him to the side. The sit next to the snack table, observing. How had this turned into a date with Cas when he came over for a booty call with Lisa? Giving in to the situation, Dean relaxed his body and rested his head on Cas's shoulder.

 

He wasn't going to be bitter, he'd rather spend time chatting with Cas than fucking Lisa anytime.

 

Cas reaches up to the snacks and grabs a cupcake.

 

“When are you coming from?”

 

“2008. Not allowed to say the month.”

 

“You look tired.” Dean can see that Cas is debating about telling him why he’s tired and decides against it. Changing the subject, “So, what did we get up to in 2008? Is this right before I get dragged to hell, or early enough where it's not a mood killer?”

 

“Big things. Exhausting things.” Castiel says, taking a bite of Lisa's homemade dessert. Eyes red with grief. Hands trembling. "And like I said, no spoiling the date."

 

Dean continues to look at Cas, persistently, seeing him try to disguise his sadness. “Come on, Cas, please? Talk to me. What's got you so down?"

 

"You were so upset," Cas eventually breaks, crumbling. "So sad and hurt. Angry."

 

"It's because of my deal, isn't it?" He breaths out, "Is that why I'm upset? Because I'm going to die? I figured I would've come to terms with that already."

 

He shakes his head, lips parted in anguish. "You wanted to know how much longer you needed to wait for me, like it was your fault I was— You sounded so resigned and miserable. I wanted to reassure you, tell you every future detail to make your soul radiate and promise that everything was happening the way it was meant to. But I can't, and it's not right. I can't be honest with you because I'd be ruining the fabric of space and time.”

 

Dean feels wrongfooted because Cas was never this apparent with him, the party around them dwindling into a low buzz. His undivided attention to his gorgeous soulmate. "You'll always come back to me. That’s what matters, man. Cas. Hey, buddy, I need you. I need you now and forever. That's never going to change, no matter how long I have to wait for you. Do you understand?"

 

"Of course, my love," Cas says, calmly. "I'm not trying to upset you. Honestly, it's just on my mind. I can't stop analyzing the circumstances, trying to find a way to tell you without actually ruining everything. Or starting the apocalypse." Cas strokes his hair back, kissing his forehead. “Love you, Dean."

 

Dean sighs contently, "I'm so happy you're here. Even if it is awkward around Lisa."

 

"I hope it's awkward around her," Cas says, selfishly. "I don't want her touching you. With Lisa, the lines always get crossed."

 

"What do you mean?" He asks, interested. 

 

"She's always there," Cas sounds exasperated, "Just out of reach. You always go to her for some reason."

 

"I'll, uh, not do that again," Dean says, anything to make Cas happy. "You won't have to worry. I'll be sure to never come here again."

 

Cas shushes him, "Don't do that. She makes you happy. Remember Cassie? Same deal. If you ever feel lonely and I'm not there, I want you to have someone. Lisa is a very sweet girl."

 

For some reason he can't except it, Dean says, "It seems unfair, how can you watch me with other people? How are you okay with that? I'm a monster, Cas."

 

"Oh, my love." Cas says, sweet and tender, "I'll never keep you from doing things that make you happy. You're worth all of it. Besides, you have the harder job. I'm always off, traveling to other versions of you that can't relate to a single thing we previously did. I'm constantly bombarded with you, and then you get left behind. You have to wait months on end to see me next, it's only fair that you get to experience the warm touch of another person. If you told me, right now, that you wanted to break up and get with Lisa, I would completely understand."

 

"I would never—"

 

"I know," Gentle smiling, Cas looks enamored.

 

Dean blushes, "What am I going to tell Sammy?"

 

"The truth?" Cas prompts, sassy.

 

“I missed you," Dean says, pressing a quick kiss to Cas's cheek.

 


	9. Beso del Demonio

**November 2014**

_Dean is 35_

 

 

Being a demon was like— fuck, the most awesome yet tiring thing Dean had ever experienced.

 

Just, to put it simply, imagine not caring about anything. No, even better, imagine not having to _worry_ about anything. That paper you need to write in English class? Fuck it. Taxes that are due? Don’t pay ‘em. A brother that Dean’s constantly _worried_ about his entire life? He practically laughs at the thought. The snot-nosed brat is the farthest thing from his brain, not a single worry in the world about the kid. In fact, these past few weeks have the most stress-free he’s ever felt. If this is how Sam felt without a soul, he’d understand why the kid never wanted the wretched thing back.

 

But he wasn’t soulless, he was a fucking demon. A knight of hell, to be precise. And unlike the stereotypes, he did have feelings. That tasteless rumor wasn’t truthful apparently. It was like, instead of the emotions being gone— they’d amplified.

 

Especially the murder-spree feeling.

 

However, it was extremely tiring. Mostly because of the same reason. His emotions hadn’t disappeared, and that kind of sucked. The mark pulsed on his arm, his new moral compass. And since his old values seemed to stick, even just a tiny bit, everything felt sour. When he stabbed some random man, some goon Crowley wanted him to off, blade tearing into his chest like butter, it was the like the most magnificent high shot through his body. Like he’d taken heroin. But it was laced and made the high kind of not fun. Only a little bit of a downer. But the “only a little bit of a downer” started to build up. He’d officially been a demon for three weeks and every time he killed, the sour feeling got worse. It was like mildew. Or something. Anyway, it ruined the mood sometimes. Like now, for instance.

 

“What the fuck is going on here?” Crowley asked, voice booming and annoying.

 

Dean sighed around the shaft, pulling off the unidentifiable dick, “What does it look like?”

 

The guy, who is attached to the dick, lets out a scoff, “Why’d you quit, bitch?”

 

Honestly, Dean doesn’t even flinch when he quickly turns back to the dick and bites hard.

 

The scream sounds kind of like music to his ears. He leans back, spits out blood and smirks, “Don’t call the guy that's sucking you off a bitch, especially if he has teeth. Now, get out of here before I kill you.”

 

Guy scrambles away, tears streaming down his face.

 

Crowley lets out this impatient huff, it hides his affection. “I don’t know why I expected any different.”

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dean asks, standing up and running a hand through his disheveled hair. “Dude called me a bitch. Of course, I’m gonna bite his dick.”

 

The quick dazzling stupor of chaos, the feeling of bringing pain, fade into this cold pit in his stomach. Like, reality kicking in. Dean literally just bit that guys—. The thought makes him sick. He’s making himself sick. Embarrassment heats up his face. What would Sam think if he saw him now?

 

“Darling, I call you a bitch, regularly. And I’ve never had the pleasure of you biting my cock.”

 

Crowley's voice snaps him out of it. He shakes off the self-hatred and feels his lips quirking into his normal smirk. “All you have to do is beg. Now, let's go do some karaoke.”

 

And that’s his life. With small moments of human weakness that disappears in seconds, no evidence.

 

They teleport back to the dive and walk inside.

 

"I'm too sexy for my love; too sexy for my love; love's going to leave me." He sings out, laughing at the rotten expressions in the audience.  _Goddamn_ , being a demon was exhilarating. He winks and smirks at a waitress. She acknowledges him with a cute smile as she walks by. He laughs into the microphone, eyes glued to her ass as she walks away. If she only knew what she was banging. She'd run screaming for the hills. "I'm too sexy for my shirt. Too sexy for my shirt, so sexy it hurts. And I'm too sexy for Milan; too sexy for Milan, New York, and Japan!"

 

After he's finished, he goes to sit next to Crowley. The king of Hell is cumbersomely hanging up the phone. "Howdy, chief. That Sammy?"

 

"Yes, the poor brat doesn't know when to give up," Crowley retorts, huffing. He then smiles at Dean, enamored. "Wanted to know where you were."

 

Snorting, he shifts closer. "Perfect. Did you spill the beans?"

 

"Never," Crowley chuckled, "Wouldn't want a moose ruining our fun. It’s a two wolf pack, no herbivores allowed."

 

"Probably tracked our location," Dean says, surprisingly okay with it. "You were talking for a while. Long enough for him to trace the call."

  
"Great," Crowley says sarcastically. "I guess he'll be here by morning— the latest. Time to bail. Although I did love your karaoke, love."

 

Dean placed his hand on Crowley’s shoulder, "What were you two talking about?"

 

"Just the usual," Crowley shrugs, "He threatened to kill me, I said  _in your dreams_. The moose was very upset, thought some low-rank demon was using your meat suit."

 

Before Dean can continue, Cas appears behind Crowley's head.  Dean's mind goes blank. Embarrassment curls in his stomach, oh god. Cas can't see him like this! He'll never—.  _Wait_. Snap out of it! Why does he care if Cas see him? He’s a demon for fuck's sake! He shouldn’t be experiencing any gooey human thoughts like that, he's a wrong demon.

 

Crowley snaps his fingers in front of Dean’s face, “Squirrel? You spaced out. Is it the mark? You’ll need to kill again if it’s burning, might I suggest another crossroad deal?”

 

Brushing him off, Dean extracts his hand from Crowley. “I’m fine and dandy, Boss. Just going to go back to your room for a second.”

 

Skeptical, Crowley says, “Are you sure? I can get that skank you’ve been fucking to go with you. I’m sure it’ll be a treat to see her entrails.”

 

“Maybe in an hour,” Dean says, reassuringly. He starts to walk out of the bar, where Cas had sneaked earlier. “I just want to prepare in case Sammy gets here sooner than expected.”

 

He practically runs to the hotel room, sighing in relief when he sees Castiel laying on the bed. The angel looks at him with interest, sad eyes and a tilted mouth.

“Which one are you?” Dean finally says, “It’s getting harder and harder to tell.”

 

“You wouldn’t ask him,” Cas says, evenly. “That would ruin the secret.”

 

“I guess you’re right.” A thrill rolls up his spine.

 

Cas knows what he is, probably can smell it on him. Hell, he might even see his new true face. Dean squashed down those thoughts, he approached the bed with an animalistic prowl. Jumping off Castiel's lap, playfully. When the angel doesn’t flinch, merely looking resigned, Dean attempts to peck his lips.

 

“Dean,” Cas says with intent. “Nothing more than kissing. I’m not doing anything with you when you’re a demon.”

 

A whine escapes his throat, “ _Castiel_. Come on, baby. I haven’t seen either of you in months.”

 

“Whose fault’s that?” Cas says pointedly, touching the mark tenderly.

 

He groans, the sensation sends a bolt of pleasure through his body, “Why does it feel so good when you touch it? Is that an angelic thing, or a Cas thing?”

 

“Pretty sure it’s a soulmate thing,” Cas declares smartly.

 

Dean presses his lips hotly to Castiel, moaning when the angel's long fingers stroke the mark. He breaks the kiss, head falling back in scorching pleasure. It’s the exact same sensation, the same ecstasy he gets when he kills. When he slides the blade into a person’s body.  “Goddamn, baby. I think this is my new kink.”

 

They kiss again, Cas being sweet and slow while Dean is burning to speed up the pace. He reaches down for Castiel's—

 

"No," Cas says seriously. "I said nothing more than kissing. I'm still an angel Dean, I can throw you off."

 

Pouting, Dean grumbles. "Fuckin' tease."

 

"Dean," Cas pushes him away, irate. "This is why we can't. You're not yourself. You just called me a tease. Would normal Dean think that's okay?"

 

Jealous of his own self, he hadn’t done that since he was a teenager. He gets off the bed, clenching his fists in bitter fury. "If you like him so much, leave. Disappear like you always do. Go to another Dean that you like better. Oh, and fuck you."

  
Catching his arm, Cas wrenches him back onto his lap. “Calm down, my love _._ My little fiery demon.”

 

“Fuck you, truly.” Dean hisses, heated at Castiel’s mocking tone. “I don’t need you. I’ve got a tight little waitress I could be fucking. She just about bends over when I snap my fingers. I don’t need your blue eyes or your freshly bitten lips.”

 

Cas hums, nosing along his neck. Dean turns into a ragdoll against his chest, all the fight leaving his body. "Such nice compliments. But I must contest, your eyes are much prettier than mine, when they're not black, such a vivid green. And your freckles are like thousands of constellations, beautifully etched across your face. I look at you and can't help falling in love. Even when you’re like this."

 

Hopefulness fills his chest, which is stupid because he's a demon. But he feels like a fourteen-year-old girl. "You like me as a demon, too?"

 

"I like you no matter what," Cas ripostes, petting the mark. "I _love_ you no matter what."

 

Dean wants him so bad, it’s palpable. “I can’t believe I’m cuddling up with you right now. As a demon.”

 

“You always treat me like this,” Cas says, almost like he’s revealing a national secret. Dean listens closely, absorbing the future information. “You never hurt me or try to kill me. I think it’s because of our timeless bond. The mark never affected our relationship. It always liked me, calming down in my presence. Like an injured dog, seeking a loving hand.  Although, it does put a damper on yours and current Castiel’s connection. Your brother, too.”

 

“Who needs those guys,” He surges to kiss Cas again, pleasantly surprised by Castiel’s confession. “They’re party poopers and buzzkills. I’ve been having the most fun I’ve had in years with fucking _Crowley_. Isn’t that insane? Really shows how miserable I was hanging around those has-beens.”

 

Cas opens his mouth to respond, giving Dean the perfect opportunity to slot his tongue in.

 

A noise of surprise melts into Dean's mouth as their lips slide together. Cas wraps his arms around Dean's neck, pulling him closer and closer. 

 

"Dean," Cas pants. Face flushed and lips swollen. "Stop distracting me, you little minx. I'm trying to tell you something."

 

"Go ahead," Dean smirks, working his way to Castiel's neck. He begins sucking and nibbling, "I'm listening."

 

" _Oh_ , Dean," Cas moans, squeezing Dean's waist and caressing the mark. "I, uh, want you to know— fuck!"

 

"Yes," Dean flutters his lashes, faux-innocently. The mark thrumming in desire.  "What do you want me to know?"

 

Dean watches attentively as Cas builds up the willpower to push him away, his eyes dilated. “My love, please. We can do this later.”

 

“Fine,” Dean sulks, resting against Castiel’s chest and playing with the button’s on his trench coat.

 

Cas appears thankful, leisurely running his fingers through Dean’s hair, “I was going to tell you that even though I love you exactly how you are, I would prefer a human Dean.”

 

Rapidly pulling back, Dean feels betrayed, “What? I thought you didn’t care?”

 

“I just want you to be happy,” Cas says simply.

 

Dean grouches, “I am happy. I’m positively radiant, baby.”

 

Cas looks at him sympathetically, “You’d be more contented with Sam by your side.”

 

Sneering, “Like I said, I don’t want him around. He’d just ruin the mood. Sort of like you’re doing right now. Stop it. I don’t want him, or that imposer version of you trailing after me like a puppy. Right now, I’ve got zero inhibitions. I’m guilt free for once, totally riding high on this impassive miracle trip. Sam and the angel are the epitomai of all my bad decisions. I don’t want them here. ”

  
"Why do you want me here?" Cas inquires, “Why am I different than them?”

 

“You’ve always been there,” Dean nonchalantly says, “I guess I loved you.”

 

“Past tense.” Cas picks it up, grim. “Demons can’t love. Don’t you want that back? That beautiful emotion.”

 

“Cas, _baby_ ,” Dean actually looks compassionate, “My loving you has been the most painful thing of my life.”

 

 Crowley bangs the door open, cackling menacingly when he lays his eyes on them.

 

"Well, this is a surprise," Dean rolls his eyes as Crowley approaches them, "Squirrel and Halo. Never thought you two had the balls to do it. Guess being a demon loosens the restraints."

 

Castiel smiles at Crowley, making the demon stop short.  "Hello, Crowley. I was wondering when you'd barge in here."

 

"It is my room, Feathers," Crowley reminds, looking at him in interest. "This might seem strange, but did you reobtain your grace?"

 

Dean's about to make up some extravagant excuse when Cas speaks, "Actually, I'm not the present Castiel."

 

Hysteria freezes through him, Dean can't believe this. Did Castiel really just spill the thirty-five year old secret Dean had been fretting over for his entire life? 

 

Crowley hums, not staggered, eyes glazing over, "Really? Future or past?"

 

"Future," Cas confirms, then adds, "By this time, we have become friendly. Fighting together against a worse foe, such as Abaddon and Metatron. And others that haven't come into the picture, yet."

 

"Looking forward to it, blue-eyes," Crowley seems pleased with the fact he's eventually excepted into the ragtag team, "When does Abaddon kick the bucket? I'm getting tired of her meddling."

 

"Who said she ever perishes?" Castiel replies, delighted at the frown curling onto Crowley's lips. 

 

Crowley huffs, glancing at Dean, "Moose will be getting here anytime."

 

 Dean looks into Castiel's eyes, feeling half relieved and half scared as he says, "Let him come."

 

 

 

**January 2006**

_Dean is 27_

 

Dean holds the phone, relistening to the message in delayed shock. He never thought he'd hear her voice again. Cassie, crying into the receiver, going on about how her father was murdered by something supernatural. The Impala cruises down the road, fields on one side, a lake on the other. Sam is the passenger side, enormous map crinkling as he spews out useless directions. Dean flips the phone shut, throwing it in the backseat. They're going to Cape Girardeau, Missouri.

 

"So—" Sam starts, teasing lit to his voice, "—by an old friend you mean...?"

 

He doesn't take the bait, "A friend that's not new."

 

"Oh yeah, thanks," Sam says sarcastically. "So her name's Cassie huh? You never mentioned her."

 

"Didn't I?" He says casually. A long pause, Sam looking at Dean expectantly. He caves, "Fine, we went out."

 

Sam pretends to look scandalized, "You mean you dated somebody? For more than one night."

 

"Kid, I don't know if you know this, but I've been in a relationship since I was twenty years old. I pretty sure I'm great with commitment," Dean says, avoiding Sam's glare.

 

Scoffing, "Cas doesn't count. You guys have been destined to be together since you were born. I'm talking about this girl. I mean, how long did you keep up the dating thing?"

 

"I'm not getting into this," Dean looks shifty. "Her dad was crushed by a truck. We're going, no arguments."

 

"Look, it's terrible about her dad, but it kinda sounds like a standard car accident. I'm not seeing how it fits with what we do." Sam looks like he has an epiphany, "Which by the way, how does she know what we do? You told her. You told her, the secret! Our big family rule number one. We do what we do and we shut up about it. For a year and a half I do nothing but lie to Jessica, and you go out with this chick a couple time and you tell her everything?"

 

"Shut up, Sam," Dean says, voice tight. "Don't talk about things you don't understand. Cas was there, he acted like telling her wasn't a bad idea. And I think the guy with future knowledge gets the say."

 

"That's another thing I was going to ask," Sam suddenly says, "Why do you keep stringing Cas along?"

 

"Didn't you just say we were destined to be together?" Dean questions.

 

Sam has on his bitchface, "Dean, we all know that Cas is your soulmate. I'm just wondering if he likes it when you bang other chicks?"

 

"He encourages it," Dean explains, "Because Cas wants me to be happy."

 

"That's the most selfish thing I've ever heard," Sam argues back, "You're cheating on Cas because he wants you to be happy? How would you like it if he was hooking up with every girl he comes across?"

 

"Different situation," Dean feels jealousy hot in his throat.

 

Sam looks at him, accusingly, "No, it's a double standard. You're a hypocrite."

 

"How would you like it if the love of your life always left?" Dean finally shouts, anger bubbling under his skin. "Sam, he's never there! He's always leaving, and we get fleeting moments between months of seeing each other. I'm constantly getting left behind. It's like a long distance relationship without the communication. We'd never work if we played by your rules. I really don't understand your problem with our relationship. I'm happy, Cas is perfectly happy. Stay out of it, alright?"

 

"At least Cas comes back," Sam sniffs, looking close to tears. "Because Jessica left too, but I've got no chance of seeing her again."

 

The rest of the ride is silent, tension building the longer it wears on. Dean continues staring ahead and pressing the gas, speeding up. 

 

“Do you ever miss him?” Sam asks, like the argument never happened.

 

“Every day. Every minute.”

 

“Every minute,” Sam repeats, turns on his side with a quiet sniff. “Yes. It’s that way, isn’t it?”

 

 

 

  **May 2008**

_Dean is 29_

 

The boys are driving on a long stretch of road, on their way to Indiana, Bobby trailing them. Lilith's there on shore-leave, they just stole Ruby's knife, and Dean's got twenty hours left before his crossroads deal is up. Dean had faith, he couldn't die. Cas had said they'd be together in 2016, that's when the polaroid was taken. It just doesn't make sense. He can't go to Hell according to the picture. But Cas did say time was fluid, and maybe this demon deal ruined things.

 

Sam interrupts his thoughts, "Hey, Dean?" 

 

Glancing over at his brother, "Yeah? 

 

"You know if this doesn't uh, this doesn't go the way we want, I want you to know—"

 

"No," Dean says sternly. "No, no, no, no." 

 

Suddenly Sam is a young, adorable, little thirteen-year-old that Dean has protected with all his might. He looks confused, "No what?" 

 

He keeps his eyes on the road, unable to look at his brother. Dean'll be dead before tomorrow. No more watching out for Sammy. "No, you're not gonna bust out the misty goodbye speech, okay? And if this is my last day on earth, I do not want it to be socially awkward." 

 

"Hello, Dean," Castiel greets, suddenly in the back seat. This has happened so many times at this point, Dean doesn't even flinch.

 

He beams over his shoulder, quickly looking back at the road, "Hey, baby. How are you this fine evening? Me? I'm fantastic."

 

"Are we headed to New Harmony?" Cas asks, lightly. He knew immediately what was going on. _"_ Are we going to see Lilith?"

 

"Sure are, big boy," Dean answers, feeling invincible. This is what it feels like to have an expiration date. "We stole Ruby's knife and we're going to stick it straight in Lilith's ugly face."

 

Before Cas can respond, a siren and flashing lights come up behind them. Are they getting pulled over? Dean remembers,   _Shit_ , they did have a busted tail-light he was meaning to fix. He drives off onto the shoulder of the road, killing the engine and waiting for the cop to come to the window. He's got his license already out, some stolen identity under the name of Sammy Hagar. The siren goes off, the lights still flashing, as the squad car parks behind them.

 

The cop moseys over with flashlight in hand. "License and registrations, please?"

 

"What's the problem officer?" Dean hands them over, hearing Castiel shift uncomfortably in the back.

 

"Do you realize you have a tail-light out, Mr. Hagar?" 

 

Dean meets the officer's eyes and his face immediately falls. The cop just tilts his head and shines the light on him. _The cop is a demon_ , he can see the things face. Ugly and demented like it was dripped in acid and burned with an eye of a stove. Red veins crawling around the eyes and tiny horns protruding from the head. He barely contains his gasp. Thankfully Castiel reacts for him, jumping out of the car and punching the cop.

 

He jumps out of the car, too. As the demon's eyes flash black, he pushes Castiel to the side and starts to attack Dean. He lands a few punches in, but Dean quickly reaches down and takes out Ruby's knife from his belt and thrusts it into the jaw of the demon. He pulls out the knife and lets go of the demon, who falls dead to the ground. Dean stands over him, arm behind him, panting after the fight. Castiel, who had been pushed down, moves up behind him and hugs him from behind. 

 

 "I could see its face. Its real face under that one."

 

Sam, who had gotten out of the car at that point, frowned, "You're seeing demons? That could come in pretty handy."

 

"Dean has got just over five hours until his deal is spent. He's most likely piercing the veil," Castiel explains, rubbing a hand down his back.

 

"I'm glad my doomed soul is good for something." He says jokingly.

 

Castiel speaks, hushed like there's a babe in the cool night, "Lilith's got demons positioned all over town. With both Dean and I able to see them, we could try and sneak up without setting off any alarms."

 

It doesn't work like that, unfortunately. They drive up and instantly have hundreds of demons on them. Ruby surprises them by killing and sending a bunch of them to Hell. And Castiel kills a few dozen with his own blade but Lilith is smart enough to hide in Ruby's meat suit. Somehow Cas get's knocked out, Lilith strong enough to overpower the angel.  Then she uses her telekinesis to hold Sam against the wall as the hounds rush into the room. Dean's blood spurting all over the room as their claws dig into his flesh.

 

Dean is twenty-nine when he dies. Castiel's face etched forever in his mind; the pure horror in his expression.

 

And in those last milliseconds, Dean swears he hears Cas say, "I'll save you, Dean."


	10. Epoch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the few months break. just needed a cleanse.

 

**April 2006**

_Dean is 27_

 

The Impala cruises down the road, snow-capped mountains in the background. Dean glances at the sticky note, pressed onto the dashboard with determination. Three letters, six digits. The location and combination of a post office box. Elkins had been murdered and maybe this would be a clue to the monster that did it, hidden away in the maildrop. Maybe because the threat is some unknown monster, but this feels more important. 

 

When they get to the post office, Castiel appears in the back seat. 

 

"Cas," Sam smiles brightly, "It's good to see you again, man."

 

Dean nods, excited to see Castiel, "Yeah, we're right in the middle of a hunt."

 

"I apologize," Cas says, out of breath, "This is only my third time traveling. I'm a little out of my element."

 

 _Oh_ , _a baby Cas_. Dean smirks.

 

"We're in '06 if your wondering," Sam says, jumping out of the car to get what Elkin's left behind, leaving the two of them in the quiet atmosphere. 

 

 Dean looks at the disheveled Cas in the rearview mirror, "Where have you been the past two times?"

 

"I was helping you find Sam in Flagstaff," Cas says, distant. "Then I was in the future with you and another Castiel."

 

"Two at once?" Dean can't picture it. Well, he can, it just makes the front of his jeans uncomfortable. "What was that like?"

 

"Exhilarating," Cas looks into Dean's eyes, and Dean had to look away from the mirror because of the heat in it. "I can't wait for you to experience it."

 

Sam comes lumbering back into the car before he can ask any questions, envelope in hand. He shoves it into Dean's lap, face confused. There are two initials on the front, addressing the letter to a _JW_. Sam and Dean exchange a look of shock, "You think? John Winchester?"

  
Dean fiddles with the seal, tearing it a little, "I don't know. Should we open it? Cas, do we open it?"

 

"I don't know everyth—" Castiel's grumbling get's cut off by a knock on Dean's window. Dean gasps, rears back, automatically raising his arm, fist clenched.

 

It's Dad, a crooked smile on his face. He get's into the back, next to Cas. 

 

"Dad, what are you doing here? Are you all right?" Dean asks, suddenly aware of Castiel and John sharing the backseat together.

  
John nods, giving Cas a once over before answering, "Yeah, I'm ok. I read the news about Daniel, I got here as fast as I could. I saw you two at his place. Then this thing appeared in your back seat. I almost had a heart attack."

  
Sam says, softly, "Why didn't you come in Dad?"

 

"You know why. Because I had to make sure you weren't followed— by anyone or anything." He says, then sarcastically, "Nice job of covering your tracks by the way."

 

It hits Dean's pride because they didn't cover up after themselves, Sam surges on, "Wait, you came all the way out here for this Elkins guy?"

 

"Yeah. He was a good man. He taught me a hell of a lot about hunting." John says, looking over at Castiel. "Hello, again."

 

Cas grunts, "John. Last time I saw you, I threatened you."

 

"Yes," John agrees, "Let's not make a habit of it. I've gained some know-how in the last decade."

 

That statement makes Dean's mouth tighten.

 

Thankfully, Sammy brings the conversation back on track, "You never mentioned him to us."

 

"We had a... we had kind of a falling out. I hadn't seen him in years." He opens the letter, reading aloud, _"If you're reading this, I'm already dead_... that son of a bitch."

 

Curious, Sam asks, "What is it?

 

"He had it the whole time."

 

Frustrated, Sam asks, "Dad, what?"

 

Cas answers, surprise filtering over his face. "He's talking about the colt. When you searched Mr. Elkins house did you see a gun? An antique, a Colt revolver."

 

Dean nods, "There was an old case but it was empty."

 

John looks upset, "They have it."

 

Sam questions, "You mean whatever killed Elkins?"

 

Starting to get out of the car, John says, "We gotta pick up the trail. If Elkins was telling the truth, we gotta find this gun."

 

"The gun— why?" Sam looks bothered by something.

 

"Because it's important, that's why," John says, voice stern.

  
Sam laughs, bitterly, "Dad, we don't even know what these things are yet."

 

"I know what they are, son. They were what Daniel Elkins killed best," John whispers, "Vampires."

 

"Vampires? I thought there was no such thing."  Sam says, "You never even mentioned them, Dad."

 

Dean feels dread fill his stomach. _Oh God_ , this is the dreaded vampire nest. The one Castiel had warned him about.

  
"I thought they were extinct. I thought Elkins and— and others had wiped them out. I was wrong." John starts talking, informing them about vampires, "Most vampire lore is crap. A cross won't repel them, sunlight won't kill them, and neither will a stake to the heart. But the bloodlust, that part's true. They need fresh human blood to survive. They were once people, so you won't know it's a vampire until it's too late."

 

"What's the big deal about this gun, then?"

 

Dean hits his shoulder, "Sammy, come on, we can Q&A after we kill all the vampires."

 

"Your brother's right, we don't have time for this."

 

"Last time we saw you, you said it was too dangerous for us to be together. Now out of the blue, you need our help." Sam is yelling. "Now obviously something big is going down, and we wanna know what!"

 

"Ok, you made your point tough guy. We can talk about this later. Sammy, I mean it, come on." Dean tries to rationalize.

 

Sam looks at them, angry. He mumbles, "This is why I left in the first place."

 

John looks livid. "What'd you say?

 

Swinging back around to face his father, "You heard me."

 

"Yeah. You left. Your brother and me, we needed you. You walked away, Sam."

  
"Sam..." Dean warned.

  
" _You_ walked away!!"

  
Wincing at John's tone, he attempts to step in, "Stop it, both of you."

 

"You're the one who said don't come back Dad, you closed that door not me. You were just pissed off that you couldn't control me anymore!"

 

It's Castiel that comes to the rescue, voice booming as he interrupts the fight. "That's enough. The both of you are acting like children. You need to stow your crap. _Now_."

 

John rips out of the back, pissed off beyond belief as he stalks back to his vehicle. 

 

"Terrific," Dean mumbles, pulling out of the parking spot to follow dad's truck.

 

While Dad's talking to some police officer and trying to sniff out the vampire's hideout, Castiel is morbidly quiet after the huge blow-up. It reminds Dean of their conversation outside of Cassie's dorm room. Castiel was going to get shot today. Dad was going to put a bullet in Castiel's head. He wonders if the angel already knows or if he's just freaked from his last stop. Two Castiel's, all he can picture is them tilting their heads identically like twins from the shining.

 

Sam speaks, sulky, "I don't see why we couldn't have gone over with him."

 

Dean can barely contain his eye-rolling. "Oh, for just once can you not argue with him."

 

"Dean, he's clearly hiding shit from us."

 

"I don't care, Sam. He clearly knows what he's talking about and I'd rather me and Cas not be your referees." John comes back over then, leaning into Dean's open window with a confident up-turn to his lips. Dean asks, "What have you got?"

  
"It was them all right. Looks like they're heading west. We'll have to double back to get around that detour."

 

"How can you be so sure?" And when Dean starts to complain, Sam adds, "I just wanna know we're going in the right direction."

 

"We are."

 

Sam starts getting pissier, "How do you know?"

 

John handing something to Dean, "I found this."

 

"It's fang," Dean says, looking at the ivory. It's sharp at the end like a toothpick.

 

"Not fangs, teeth. The second set descends when they attack. The teeth are so strong they can rip open a human's neck and leave it like ribbons" John corrects, taking the tooth back and glaring at Sam. "Any more questions? No? All right, let's get out of here, we're losing daylight. And Dean why don't you touch up your car before you get rust? I wouldn't have given you the damn thing if I thought you were going to ruin it."

 

Dean grimaces.

 

Castiel clears his throat, "You should at least tell them about the gun, John."

 

John frowns at Castiel, "Excuse me, but who gave you the right to order me around?"

 

"I'm sure you've noticed, dad," Sam answers, sharply. "You're not in charge anymore. Which means Cas is your equal."

 

When John glances at Dean for support, he's surprised to find his son actively avoiding his eyes. 

 

Feeling ganged up on, he sighs and starts speaking softly, "Back in 1835, when Halley's comet was overhead, the same night those men died at the Alamo. They say Samuel Colt made a gun. A special gun. He made it for a hunter, a man like us only on horseback. The story goes he made thirteen bullets, and this hunter used the gun a half dozen times before he disappeared, the gun along with him. And somehow Daniel got his hands on it. They say this gun can kill anything."

 

"Kill anything like, _supernatural_ anything?" Worried for Castiel's sake, Dean feels his stomach drop.

 

Sam interprets the reveal differently, "Like the demon."

 

"Yeah, the demon. Ever since I picked up its trail I've been looking for a way to destroy that thing. Find the gun— we may have it."

 

John leaves to go back to his truck.

 

Sam is driving, following John's truck while Dean sits in the back with Castiel. He wants to spend as much time as possible with him.

 

Castiel informs them, "Vampires nest in groups of eight to ten. Smaller packs are sent to hunt for food. Victims are taken to the nest where the pack keeps them alive, bleeding them for days or weeks."

 

"I wonder if that's what happened to that couple." Dean questions.

 

Grumpily, Sam says, "That's probably what Dad's thinking. Course it would be nice if he just told us what he thinks."

 

"Sam, we've been looking for Dad all year. Now we're not with him for more than a couple of hours and there's static already?"

 

"No. Look, I'm happy he's ok, all right? And I'm happy that we're all working together again."

 

"Well good."

 

Unable to help himself, "It's just the way he treats us, like we're children. He barks orders at us, Dean, he expects us to follow 'em without question. He keeps us on some crap need-to-know deal."

 

"He does what he does for a reason."

 

"What reason?"

 

"Our job! There's no time to argue, there's no margin for error, all right? That's just the way the old man runs things."

 

"Yeah well, maybe that worked when we were kids but not anymore, all right. Not after everything you and I have been through, Dean. I mean, are you telling me you're cool with just falling into line, and letting him run the whole show?" He looks at Dean challengingly.

 

Giving Sam a long look, "If that's what it takes."

 

Sam shakes his head.

 

Castiel talks to Dean, just low enough for Sam not to hear, "You both need to stop fighting. John's presence is wearing you and Sam down. You both need each other, you've worked well together for months. Your father is ruining the balance you've created. Dean, you and Sam have both outgrown him. Sam is right, okay? The way John does things is wrong. I should go into their nest and talk with them. They can't hurt me."

 

"Absolutely not," Dean says loudly, getting Sam's attention.

 

"What?" Sam asks, forehead wrinkled.

 

Dean scoffs, "Cas wants to barge into the nest and talk with them like it's some brunch date. There's no way in hell I'm letting you do that."

 

"Some vampires some can be good, not feeding on humans," Castiel contradicts, appealing to Sam. 

 

"Like vegetarians?" Sam snorts, still mad at John.

 

"Who cares what their diet is, they're still monsters," Dean intervenes, squeezing his fists tight.

 

"Just because they're not human, they're monsters?" Castiel asks, insulted. "Am I a monster then?"

 

"According to Dad you are," Dean says unhappily. "And even if I was okay with this, he would never let you risk the hunt by just walking into their nest."

 

"Well, that's the upside to not being John soldier," Castiel says defiantly. "I'm my own person and he's not the boss of me. Like Sam said, we're equals. Besides, I'm an angel. I'm sure I can behead a lowly vampire if it comes down to that. They _did_ kill a few humans."

 

  

 

**May 2017**

_Dean is 38_

 

Dean pulls Sam aside, handing the kid a gun. This was going to be horrible. "You ready?"

 

"Nope." Sam's grip tightens on the revolver. "But when has that ever stopped us?"

 

"Yeah." Dean chuckles, looking at the ground. He looks over at his angel, tentatively, "You know, Cas has faith in this kid."

 

Sam nods, "He does."

 

"I hope he's right. But for me? I have faith in us. You, me, Mom, Cas." He pep talks, "And Crowley. _Sometimes_."

 

"Dean," Sam says, smiling softly.

 

"This is gonna work. It has to." Because they've survived the apocalypse. And he can't give in to his doubts, otherwise, he won't be strong for Sammy.

 

Lucifer walks around the corner, a sway to his step and a wicked grin twitching on his lips. "Well, this is a fun surprise. I gotta hand it to you guys. You never give up, even when you should. Even when it would be so stupid not to."

 

"Look, whatever you're planning on doing, Chuck— God will stop you, just like he did last time." Sam emptily threatens. 

 

"You're right. What should I do? Oh, God! Don't strike me dead," Lucifer mocks, praying up to the sky with fake alarm. He drops the act. "Come on, Sam. You sound like a virgin in Jesus camp. _We can't. God is watching._ No. Chuck walked. He's gone."

 

Dean says gruffly, "So you're just gonna smash his toys?"

 

"Exactly." He snaps, pointing at Dean gleefully. "'Cause every time I look at this sad trash fire of a world, you know what I keep thinking? I could do so much better."

 

"So Apocalypse, take two." Dean remarks. "That's your plan?"

 

"When in doubt, go with the classics." The devil shrugs, cracking his knuckles. "Well, boys, enough with the foreplay. Let's do this."

 

It all happens very fast after that.

 

Castiel charges at Lucifer with his angel blade, but Lucifer bats him aside. Castiel doesn't get up.

 

"Well, that worked." Lucifer laughs.

 

Sam and Dean look at Castiel, then each other, then take off running around toward the back of the house.

 

"Mature. Real mature!" Lucifer strolls around the house after them. "You guys? I really want to enjoy this. Really wanna savor just ripping you apart, gettin' all up in there, and gettin' all gooey. But, you know, the little slugger's almost here and, uh... Well, I'm on the clock."

 

Sam and Dean stand by the rift and watch as Lucifers eyes light up with interest as he stops. Dean reaches out and touches the rift, and he and Sam disappear into the alternate universe.

 

"Took you long enough," Crowley grumbles.

 

Sam pulls his bitch face. "Not now, Crowley. Come on."

 

Dean shoots Lucifer, who jumped through the rift, until his gun is empty. Lucifer advances on him, grabbing him, and starts hitting him. It's relentless. His voice like a snake. "You lose." And he continues punching Dean, eventually moving onto stomping on and kicking him. "Ah, I could do this all day. You make such funny noises."

 

Lucifer is flung away from Dean by an invisible force. Crowley grins. "Surprise."

 

"Crowley!" Sam rushes over to help Dean up and pulls him back toward the rift. "You sneaky little— I guess I get to kill you twice, huh, Crowley?"

 

"I doubt it."

 

"Oh, no, no. You had your chance. You could've put me back in the Cage, but you had to make it personal, didn't you?"

 

Sam and Dean stop by the rift and watch Crowley and Lucifer.

 

"You're right. It is personal. You humiliated me.I hate you. Deeply. Truly. I'm gonna enjoy wiping that smug, self-satisfied look off your face. Personally."

 

"You mean this one?" Lucifer smirks. Crowley's lets his angel blade drop into his hand. "Come on, Crowley. You know whatever you try, you're gonna lose."

 

"You're right." He turns to Sam and Dean. "Bye, boys."

 

Crowley kills himself with his angel blade, and falls to the ground, dead. Dean watches, stunned, as Castiel barges through the rift and pushes past him and Sam.

 

"Cas?"

 

"No, come on. Come on!"

 

"Cas! Cas! Cas!"

 

"No, no, no, no, no, no! We gotta go! We gotta go!" Dean tries to stop Cas, but he advances on Lucifer with his blade drawn, while Sam drags Dean back through the rift. Sam and Dean get to their feet. Dean looks at the fading rift in hysteria when Castiel comes back through.

 

"Cas," Sam says, relieved. 

 

The rift flares behind Cas and an angel blade stabs his chest from behind.

 

"No," Is all Dean can manage to yell.

 

Castiel falls to the ground, revealing Lucifer standing behind him, holding the bloody angel blade. "That was fun. Seriously, points for trying. Super impressed, but, uh... playtime's over."

 

Mom comes from behind them, voice steady. "Get away from them."

 

"Mary, right? Yeah, I've heard about you. You, uh, are certainly living up to the hype."

 

Behind her back, Mary activates the angelic brass knuckles and then takes a step toward Lucifer, until Sam tries to stop her, "Mom, Mom, Mom."

 

Mary gives him a sincere look. "I love you."

 

She punches Lucifer in the face.

 

"Cute. Is that all you got, mama?"

 

Mary punches him again, and again, and he drops the angel blade beside Castiel's body. She continues punching him, each blow lighting up the red grace beneath his skin. She punches him back toward the rift, and as he's about to fall through, he grabs her arm and pulls her with him.

 

"Mom!"

 

The rift flares brightly, and then disappears.

 

Dean looks from the vanished rift over to Castiel.

 

"No. No, no, no, no, no."

 

Cas crashes through the window. Some sort of energy blasting from the room where Kelly was. Probably the baby being born. Dean doesn't care when Castiel is laid out on the ground, lifeless. 

 

Sam runs towards the house as Cas stands up, wobbly.

 

Dean stands over Castiel's corpse, then drops to his knees. Cas is standing off to the side, out of his view. Dean looks up from Castiel up to the sky, and then back to Castiel. He feels something inside him break because this isn't like the other times his angel has died. Cas told him this was when he was getting sent back, with a bloody shirt and no quarters in his pockets. That means something happens, Castiel gets brought back but wrong. Maybe even, he'll never get Castiel back for real.

 

He feels tears slowly drip down his face. Castiel's dead face an echo of himself. Two strong arms encompass Dean in a gentle hug.

 

"Why didn't you tell me you died? After all these years, this is the end and you couldn't be bothered to tell me?"

 

"I didn't want you to suffer or be upset," Cas said softly, staring down at his lifeless body. He presses his face into Dean's hair.

 

Dean sniffs, reaching down to touch Castiel's still warm cheek. It sends a jolt through him, like static. He caresses Castiel's cheek, wishing he could kiss his mouth and have that chance before the angel died. He feels foolish for not telling the angel about his feelings now that it's too late. There's just a reverberation of the man he loves traveling through space and time now, and he understands that immediately.

 

Cas tightens his grip, tears rushing down his face. "You know, I always thought that I rescued you from Hell."

 

"You did," Dean laughs watery.

 

"No," Cas starts to fade away, "It was you that rescued me."

 

 And then he's alone with Castiel's body.

 

**April 2006**

  _Dean is 27_

 

 

The Vampire's corpse laid empty on the road, lightning and thunder still striking behind them. Castiel frowns, "What a waste of a bullet when I could've just—" 

 

John pulls the colt out, pointing it at Castiel's head. His finger itching over the trigger. "How about I end this whole argument for good?"

 

"No," Dean screams, running to throw himself in front of the barrel of the gun. "Dad, stop!"

 

But he's too late and Castiel lies, shot through the chest, on the cold asphalt of the winding road. His shirt turned the exact same shade of crimson red, but there are no magical powers to act as a washing machine and Dean still doesn't have any quarters. He vaguely hears Sam tackling dad to the ground, a scuffle that Dean is impartial to with Castiel laying immobile like a fucking corpse.

 

Sam comes over soon after, having pissed off dad so immensely that the old bastard ran to his truck and sped off without even a taunt. Dean leans his head against Castiel's soundless chest. No heartbeat. He tilts his chin up to feel if there was any air coming out of his nose. But the angel isn't breathing. Dean feels tears rushing down his face. Castiel had said that he survived this, but maybe that was just a comfort he had said to keep Dean from worrying. Or maybe Dean screwed something up and this wasn't happening like it was supposed to. 

 

"Maybe he doesn't need to breathe. He's not exactly human, Dean." Sam says, reassuringly.

 

"His heart isn't beating, Sammy. Dad used the fucking colt to shoot him right through the chest." Dean swallows, running his hand up Castiel's neck to feel for a pulse.

 

"We should give him a hunters funeral," Sam says softly. "He wasn't like us but he was more human than dad ever will be. And I respect him more than I ever will dad. He's like a big brother to me, Dean. I—"

 

Then, a grumpy _ouch_ escapes Castiel's lips as his eyes flutter open.

 

**Author's Note:**

> (If you want to message me any prompts or just talk, my twitter is @ImpalaLostiel - I might even tweet about future fics!)
> 
> Comment, kudos, and bookmark! I appreciate the feedback.


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